


Waiting For The Light That Never Comes

by Siriusfanatic



Series: X-Men: Past, Present and Future [5]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Cannibalism, Captive Gambit, Captivity, Clones, Coercion, Dark Humor, Depression, Disturbing Themes, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mutant Experimentation, Predatoral Dark Beast, Sadistic Mr. Sinister, Self-Destruction, clone OC - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-05 17:59:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 59,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4189551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriusfanatic/pseuds/Siriusfanatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For six long months, Remy LeBeau remained a prisoner of Mr. Sinister in his underground citadel. But he was not alone; Remy finds himself becoming strange bedfellows with an particularly viscous feral mutant known as Victor Creed, later revealed to the young mutant to be the villainous Sabertooth. Surrounded by enemies on all sides, Remy fights to keep his sanity and his soul while trapped in Nathaniel Essex's wicked underworld of mutant experimentation and telepathic manipulation. Gambit has one goal keeping him from descending completely into madness; escape and find Wolverine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Trigger warnings up front!! Explicit sexual content, manipulation, coercion, abuse...this is a very dark piece, and while it does have it's hopeful side and its dark humor, it's still probably not advisable for particularly sensitive readers.

 

_The Meat Grinder Club, Houston Texas_

_6 months ago_

 

                The bar was everything Remy expected from the large neon pink sign out front. Rather than the large open arena to accommodate a large dance floor, it had a darker, more derelict, seedy feel to it. Patrons were huddled into the dark red booths, cloistered close together as they tried to be heard of the drone of the music, which was country of course, and swilled their expensive imported beers and took shots of bourbon between long glares around the room or at the stage behind them, where a woman was dancing

                Remy was an instant outsider; but that was also the point. He wore tight black jeans and silk shirt in a deep violet color, which he kept open almost down to his ribs, exposing plenty of skin and muscle beneath, and his hair was tied back in a stubby ponytail. On his hands he wore black leather fingerless gloves. He’d shaved as well, the lack of his usual thin scruff making him look much younger. Apparently his mark liked clean shaven men.

                He sat at the bar, alone, watching the crowd out of the corner of his eye while he nursed his fourth shot Johnnie Walker. He caught sight of his mark the moment he’d come through the door an hour ago; he was a slightly older man, somewhere in his late forties, with thinning black hair and two gold caps on his teeth, wearing a black Stetson hat, and an black suit jacket over a green shirt. Remy thought he looked like Houston’s version of a bad pimp, but said nothing. The man’s name was Jacob Lancaster, and he was in charge of selling experimental pharmaceuticals for a company who claimed to cater to Mutants. All that really meant of course was he was another sleaze bag who was trying to cash in on desperate Mutants who were trying to either control or rid themselves of their abilities.

His job was to catch the man’s interest, flirt a little, and arrange a private rendezvous with him later, where Sinister’s other unnamed operative would take care of extracting whatever information he needed form the man. It was an extremely simple task, one Remy could have done without thinking. Which was good, because he was already drunk. The man kept eyeing him from his booth and Remy kept on drinking, ignoring him except for a sly little glance here and there, just to keep him interested. He could have had this over with by now…but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He was tired of using people this way, and being used this way himself. He knew there was something better now, someone who had shown him his own worth and given him a glimpse of what his life might be beyond Sinister’s clutches. But Logan wasn’t here now. It was just him, on his own, falling back into the same old patterns, comfortably back under the thumb of the man who had effectively ruined his life. He should be grateful to be alive; this he realized. Sinister had done much worse to those in his employee for much less. But Remy was special to him. And of course, that made it all the worse.

Someone came over to his end of the bar and sat down heavily beside him with his bottle of beer and sighed. “What the fuck are you doing?” John Greycrow mumbled next to him.

Remy grinned; “Getting wasted on Essex’s dime. What’s it look like?” he answered, finishing his last drink and receiving another one immediately.

Greycrow glared at him, then the bar tender. “He’s had enough. How ‘bout some water, huh?”

As the bartender walked away, his companion looked at him flatly. “You’re fucking yourself over, you _know_ that. This job should be nothing to you, I’ve seen you woo a fucking crowd in under five minutes with a couple of colorful catch phrases and that damn accent of yours.”

Remy continued to giggle, “Oh, mon frere, dere ain’t a pair of eyes in dis room dat haven’t been on me tonight. There’s at least two boys in dat first row over dere who ware trying to work up de nerve to buy me a drink, they are both straight, and all four of those ladies with the cattle ranchers are thinkin’ about how I look so sweet and lost and sad and how I’d look in deir beds. And dat old man over in the left hand corner with the big white hat and the bolero neck tie? You don’t want to _know_ what he wants to do to me.”

Greycrow shrugged. “So what? You some kind of telepath now?”

“My Empthay’s dat sharp is all,”

John leaned closer; “Your Charm is going nuts, is the problem. You’re too damn drunk to control it. _Focus_ , kid, you ain’t got to do much here, just smile and be pretty for the fucker and set up a date. Then we can escape this shit hole and head back to the hotel.”

Remy glared at him with slightly glassy eyes and then stood up, making his way over to Lancaster’s table, his walk steady and slow, letting everyone get a good glimpse of his backside as he passed before he came to stand right next to Lancaster’s booth.

The black haired man looked up at him curiously, eyes lingering at warm tan skin showing beneath the open fold of his shirt, and down to the front of his jeans, before finally making their way back up to his eyes, which captured his attention more fully.

“Can’t help but notice de way you’ve been smilin’ at me, M’sieur,” Remy purred, pouring it on thick like honey as he smiled down at the man. “Why you no come over and say hi, I promise I don’t bite.”

The man in the green shirt chuckled warmly up at him, “Yes, well, you must forgive me. You improved the scenery of this place about a hundred times over; I couldn’t help myself.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card, which held up for Remy to take; “My card.”

The Cajun reached down to take, and when he did the man let his fingers brush over his. Gambit felt an immediate jolt from the contact, receiving an empathic imprint of the same man brutally beating and capturing other mutants, taking them off the street in the middle of the night and leaving them at designated drop offs, where they were used like lab rats to test his drugs on. The man was a total sociopath, completely lacking in remorse for his actions. In fact, he got off on the power and the violence. Especially over those who had been reduced to mindless junkies on his drugs…he was already picturing what Remy would look like…

Remy came back to himself, doing his best not give any hint of what he had just experienced, and read the name on the card, written in shiny red ink. “Jacob Lancaster, Silvermane Research Incorporated…” Gambit smirked and looked down at the man, “Impressive. You must be someone important.”

“Well, I like to think I’m contributing to the greater good in my own way.” Lancaster grinned, standing up. He was about Remy’s height, and as he moved, LeBeau caught a glimpse of a gun holster just under the flap of his jacket.

“But I still don’t know _your_ name,” he added, eyes boring into Remy, looking at him like a hungry wolf. Remy could feel everything coming off the man, his lust, his greed, his excitement at realizing that Remy appeared to be alone and intoxicated. This man was dangerous, more dangerous than he anticipated.

But he kept his composer as best he could, and struggled to close himself off from the man’s emotions while keeping him snared with his Charm. It was almost impossible for Remy of course, the two talents too closely intertwined.

“You can call me whatever ya want, M’sieur.” He mumbled, feeling his voice shake a little. Shit, this was bad. He was drunk and hazy, and this man was not alone. He had more people waiting at the back of the club, in a large black car. The kind of car people got into and were never heard from again; like something out of a sixties mobster flick.

The man reached out and tucked a stray piece of hair behind his ear, “Such fascinating eyes you have. I imagine you attract attention wherever you go with eyes like those. You know, my company is working on a line of contacts to correct such defects.”

Gambit continued to smile; “Interestin’, M’seiur. Perhaps you could show me some time.” He redoubled his focus, watching it snare the other man, blurring out those awful thoughts and creating new ones, though they were only marginally less disturbing.

“I have a room at the Hilton,” Lancaster mumbled, “perhaps we could discuss possible treatment or…other interests.”

“Sounds fine, cher.” Remy said leaning closer, letting his hand brush along the man’s arm. “I’ve got a friend waiting for me at de bar now, but…maybe a little later on, non?”

The man in the black hat smirked and glanced across the bar. “You look pretty free to me.”

Remy blinked, glancing back to where John had been sitting only to find no trace of his partner. Of all the fucking times to need to take a piss. Lancaster put his arm around Remy’s waist and drew him in closer, the result of LeBeau’s Charm making him impulsive and aggressive.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetie. He looked too old for you anyway. Let’s you and me go back to my room, and I’ll show you a good time.”

Remy tensed, knowing he now had a choice. Either allow this monster to take him back to his hotel and work him over, just to keep him primed for whenever Sinister’s other guy showed up, or…

The Cajun removed the Texan’s hand from his waist, stepping back, his sweet façade dropped immediately, revealing something more sly and dangerous. “Non, homme, I t’ink I best wait for my friend. Would be rude of me to take off without sayin’ goodbye, and we southern boys don’t take much to rudeness.”

The man scoffed, surprised at Remy’s sudden change in demeanor. “What’s the matter boy? Scared of what a real man could do for you?” His companions laughed after him, but Remy kept walking, feeling all that bourbon making his vision swim and he reflexes slow.

He went straight to the back of the bar, down a dim lit hallway to where they had the restroom tucked, pumping into a couple who seemed to be attempting to dry hump against the wall. He slammed himself through the door, looking into the dingy two-stalled restroom.

“Dammit, John, of all the times to need to—“

No one was in the room, both stalls were empty from what he could tell. “Johnnie? Where de hell did you get to—“

A body knocked into him from behind, arms coming around him and dragging him back against the wall, covering his mouth and nose, smothering him, while the other arm pinned his own to his side. Remy squirmed and blinked as two more people came through the door; Lancaster and his whole table of friends.

“No one gave you permission to walk away, sweetheart.” The man sighed, leering at Gambit. “You should have taken me up on my offer, would have made this whole lot easier.”

The man behind him pulled a syringe out of a holster case below his jacket, filled with something blue.

“Aw, _hell_ _no_!” Remy grumbled, taking his foot and stomping down hard on his captor’s toes, hearing them crunch under the force. The man howled, only to have Remy drive his elbow into his gut, making him double over, winded, before receiving the same elbow to the noise, which caused it to spurt blood before he tumbled over.

The man with the syringe lunged at him, but LeBeau caught his arm, twisted it and jerked him forward to punch him in the face, then sent him flipping away. He turned to tackle Lancaster himself, only to hear the loud click of a gun, followed by a sharp pop of a bullet, which grazed his bicep before embedding itself in the wall.

Remy turned to see the bar tender standing in the doorway with a revolver in hand, while his patrons scrambled to clear the place behind him. Gambit blinked at him, but the man’s eyes were on Lancaster. “Goddammit, Jake! You ain’t supposed to do this shit _in here_! We had an agreement!”

Lancaster looked at the man with an expression of tired annoyance, pulling his gun from his holster and waving it casually at Gambit. “I have it under control, okay?”

“If I could butt in,” Remy muttered, glaring between the two of them before pointing to the bar tender, “Yer place is a dump, smells like rancid meat and sweaty ass, and your liquor’s cheap as hell. You gonna ply a man with alcohol while you settin’ him up, least you could do is use the top shelf booze.”

The bartender looked insulted, gawking, as he turned his glassy eyes on Lancaster, “And as for you, homme…you get off on brutalizing a bunch of drugged out zombies after you’ve let your ‘doctors’ and ‘scientists’ have deir way ‘em? Dat says ta me dat you afraid of havin’ a willin’ partner, dat you can’t handle someone who has deir own thoughts. In fact, from de size of dat hat, I’d say you compensating for what must be a micro-dick…”

Lancaster raised his gun to shoot him, when the bartender gave a shout and was bodily flung backwards and sent rolling several yards until he crashed into the back of one of his booths. Both Remy and Lancaster both blinked in surprise as a new figure appeared.

He barely fit through the doorway, having to duck his head to keep from taking off the top six inches of door frame. He was broad shouldered with long blonde hair that hung down past his collar bone and dripped down his back. His face was clean shave, except for the thick blonde sideburns that cut beneath his cheek bones and ran just short of his chin. He wore a long leather duster over a rumpled looking black shirt and jeans and boots. He smelled like gun metal and blood, and his eyes were gold and cold.

He grinned as he filled the doorway, eyes shifting from one man to the next. “Pardon me, fellas,” he growled, voice low but edged with a kind of wicked mirth that made Remy’s spine go rigid. “Didn’t know it was _that_ kinda joint. Mind if I cut in?”

Lancaster turned his gun on the newcomer. “Turn around, pal. Ya’ll didn’t see nothing.”

“Oh, I see _plenty._ ” The man in the duster cackled, moving further into the room, starting to make his way in between the two men. “I see an inadequate little fuck trying to take advantage of this fine young thing over here.”

“You don’t know who you’re messing with, son—“

“I know your name, Lancaster. You work for Silvermane, who works for Oscorp. You ain’t nothin’ but the slimy middle man in a long chain of low-lives, and you don’t scare me.” He held up a hand, showing the smaller man his fingers as his claw-like nails extended into something akin to talons.

Lancaster trembled. “Shit…another fuckin’ mutie.”

The blonde glanced back at Remy, who remained poised and tense on his feet, little beads of sweat appearing on his temples. “Why don’t you go on, babe. I think I got this guy covered.”

Gambit stared at him, realizing this must be Sinister’s other man on the job. “Not sure about dat,” he mumbled, voice a little thick and uneasy, feeling that last drink starting to creep up on him sooner than expected thanks to all this adrenaline. “Was supposed to get a little more information out of him about his testing facilities.”

The Texan looked stunned; “Wait…you two…you two are together?!”

The blonde grinned bigger and laughed low, looking Remy up and down. “I wouldn’t say no ta that, pard’…”

Gambit rolled his eyes and the bigger mutant reached back and touched his arm, plucking him forward. “Go on, kid, I’ll get what we need.”

Remy hesitated a moment longer before moving towards Lancaster, pulling his business card from his pocket, turning it over in his fingers until it glowed faintly pink before slipping it into his shirt pocket. “Never got to give ya _my_ card, mon ami. I promise, you won’t be forgettin’ it.”

He stepped back, watching as the man’s pocket began to glow from inside, the kinetic charge of the card building and gaining power. Lancaster stared at it in shock, not knowing what it was, and started to slap at his chest.

Remy grabbed Victor’s hand and yanked him back, just as the energy burst, blowing Lancaster backwards until he crashed through the stall, cracking the title wall behind him before flopping forward into the toilet.

The blonde stranger burst into laughter at the sight, grinning down at the smaller, leaner man next to him. “Holy shit! Look at you, little Cajun firecracker!”

But Remy didn’t look proud or impressed; he looked somewhat sick and worried, realizing what he’d done. “Oh shit…oh shit, did I kill ‘im!?”

The bigger man shrugged his big shoulders, moving towards the downed man in the stall. He grabbed him by his greasy black hair and yanked his head up, and the creep groaned. “Nope. Still breathin’.” He let his head fall and smack against the porcelain seat. “Too bad.”

Remy looked panicked, grabbing at his hair. “Non! God dammit! Why did I do dat--?”

“Seems pretty restrained ta me,” the bigger mutant shrugged.

“Non, we _needed_ him!”

The other man laughed again, shoulders shaking, “We don’t need him,” he corrected. “Like I said; he was a middle man, a bad one at that. I gotta dozen more that can give Essex the same information, if not more.” He looked Remy over, nostrils flaring faintly, eyes roving over the lean mutant’s figure in a new way. He reached out a hand, claws retracting back to “normal” size and brushed his knuckles along Remy’s long neck lightly.

“Hey, easy…those assholes really got ya worked up, I see.”

Remy stared up at him, feeling a mixed jumble of emotions rolling off the larger man, primarily adrenaline and excitement and a strong undercurrent of lust. Still, for the moment, he didn’t sense a threat from the man.

“Yeah well, I run into a lot of assholes in my line of work.” He muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets and stepping over the downed and unconscious bodies that littered the bathroom floor, making his way back out into the bar, the bigger man at his heels.

“I bet you do, sweetheart. I bet you do.”

Remy felt the man’s eyes on him, felt the pulse of his body heat, which seemed higher than most peoples, and sensed that the man was studying him in a way he’d only ever encountered once before.

“You’re a feral, if I’m not mistaken.” He called back over his shoulder.

The other man nodded; “Yeah, sure…if that’s what ya wanna call it.” He moved around Remy and slipped behind the now abandoned bar, reaching the top shelf and taking down several bottles of high end liquor. “How about something to calm those frazzled little nerves of yours, pretty boy? What’s yer poison?”

Gambit glared around at the now empty bar, still seeing no sign of John. He had no doubt that in a short time the place would be swarming with cops, or mobsters, or super villains… _somebody_ would be coming to check on the damage.

His instincts told him he should run, get as far away as he could before that happened, meet at their safe house as he had always been instructed should anything go wrong. But he was angry, and shaken, and not drunk enough to tolerate the fact that he had been abandoned by his partner and nearly kidnapped by a fuckin’ Ted Bundy wanna-be.

His eyes flickered to the full bottle of Southern Comfort the newcomer was holding. “Give me de whole bottle.”

The blonde raised a bushy brow and grinned, handing it over, watching Remy take a long pull from it, his eyes watching his Adam’s Apple as bobbed in his long throat. Gambit felt lust rushing off of him, and it should have told him to run, but he didn’t.

He winced as he finished swallowing, feeling the immediate rush of it to his brain and leaned a bit more heavily on the bar. “Shiiiittt…” he mumbled, falling onto a stool. “Everyt’ing got awful bright all de sudden...”

The other man laughed softly and started taking drinks of his own, sucking down a bottle of gin as fast as it were a bottle of gator aid. Afterwards he licked his lips, leaning over the counter to stare at the younger man.

“Name’s Victor…what’s yers?”

“Remy LeBeau,” Gambit answered back, smirking, biting his lower lip lightly and looking Victor up and down in much the same manner. “N’Awlin’s favorite disillusioned son.”

Victor nodded, “Hmm, LeBeau…sounds familiar. Yer family ain’t associated with the Thieves Guild, per chance?”

LeBeau looked at him coyly for a moment and took another drink. “Got no family of my own, naw sir. Just me all by my lonesome.”

“That’s a shame.” Victor rumbled. “Pretty things like you tend to find trouble when they’re all alone.”

Remy laughed; “Well, what does that make you den, mon ami?”

Victor leaned close, almost close enough to kiss him, gold eyes boring into Remy’s ruby ones, making the Cajun feel suddenly breathless and helpless, maybe even possessed. “I’m the best kind of trouble.”

“What in the HELL happened here?!” Greycrow’s voice suddenly erupted from the doorway, startling Remy to the point that he slipped off the stool and fell flat on his ass on the floor.

Victor laughed loudly, climbing over the bar to help him up. “Shit, if you ain’t a jumpy little thing!”

“Fuck you,” LeBeau giggled, letting Creed pull him up. He stumbled right into the man, who caught him in both arms and held him there, big hands moving down Remy’s back to cup his ass lightly.

“You offerin’?” he chuckled, and Remy flushed, rocking up into him teasingly before reaching behind him and gently removing the man’s claws from his backside.

John was storming up to them then, grabbing Remy’s shoulder and pushing him back as he glared up at Victor; “Creed, what the _fuck_ is going on!? You were supposed to be waiting at the hotel, I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“I got _bored_.” Victor rumbled, throwing Greycrow a mild look of disgust. “Came out here to see what trouble I could get into while I waited for you to do yer damn job. Looks like I came around just in time.”

He looked back at Remy, licking his lips faintly and John looked hurriedly to his friend; “You were supposed to—“

“Oh don’t _even!_ ” Remy snapped with surprising venom, giving the bigger man a push. “ _You_ were the one who walked off on de job, homme! You left me hanging out dere, and that fuckin’ sicko was about to throw me in a god damn car and take me off to Mr. Hyde’s laboratory! What de hell happened to you!?”

“Something came up, Essex—“

“ _FUCK ESSEX!”_ Remy spat.

Both men’s eyes widened; one in amusement, the other in concern. But Remy wasn’t finished; “That _bastard_ yanks my strings, and I’m just supposed to smile and enjoy it? Keep right on dancin’, like the happy little _puppet_ he wants me to be? I can’t do it no more, cher! I have a god damn mind of my own--!”

John grabbed his arm and squeezed, shaking him faintly and looking at him in that stern, deadly serious manner; “And if you wanna keep it that way, you’ll stop acting like a damn fool and _listen_ to me!”

He searched Gambit’s face, trying to reach him under the veil of alcohol and reckless self-destruction, to bring him back into the reality of the situation before any more mistakes could be made. Remy was already on thin on ice with Sinister, the slightest infraction could have terrible consequences.

Gambit began to falter at the thought, eyes dropping, but Creed was suddenly between the two of them. “What the fuck is the issue, Greycrow?” he muttered. “I got yer job covered, ain’t no more you two need to do here. So how about you take the night off?”

John glared up at Creed, noting that dangerous gleam in his gold eyes. “Back the fuck off, Creed…you have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

“You got some claim to the kid?”

John’s eyes flickered for a moment to Remy, then back to Creed; “ _Sinister_ does.”

Gambit suddenly pushed forward, fist flying and knocked John back, sending him stumbling back against the bar, spilling discarded bottles and glasses everywhere. “ _I DON’T BELONG TO THAT CREEP!”_ he raged, eyes glowing like bright pink fire, sparks flying from his fingers. “How dare you, _how dare you_ , after what he’s _done_ \--!?”

Creed suddenly put an arm around his chest and drew him back to him, leaning down to kiss the tall man’s neck softly. “Easy there killer, I think ya made yer point.”

Remy leaned back against him, slipping his fingers between Creed’s and moving forward. “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered, turning his back on Greycrow. Victor followed behind him obediently, laughing softly as the other mutant shook glass and spilled liquor from himself and cursed them under his breath.

**

 

                Fifteen minutes later found the two Mutants entering one of the side entrances of one of the area’s higher end hotels. Victor’s room was on the fourth floor of the building in one of the corner penthouse rooms that overlooked the glowing lights of downtown.

                The pair stumbled into the room together, groping and kissing heatedly the entire way like a pair of drunk honeymooners. As they fell through the door, Victor simply picked Remy up, allowing the smaller man to wrap his legs around Creed’s waist while the man held him in place by his thighs and ass, devouring his mouth as Remy ground up against him.

                They didn’t quite make it to the bed, falling stead on the black leather couch. Remy giggled, liking the weight of the man on top of him, digging his fingers into his long gold hair and bearing his neck to let Victor kiss and lick and bite as he pleased.

                It was good to be touched this way again, on his own terms, and to want as much as he seemed to be wanted by the other man. Sinister never touched him, not like this, but Remy always felt his eyes on him, watching, coveting, and more often than night he had woken from nightmares of the man molesting him in his sleep; and he was never sure if the dreams were real or not.

                But there had been no one like this, no one since Logan. He had been kept under lock and key till then, considered too much of a flight risk. He’d been caged, isolated. So the moment he was free of his shackles, he was going to revel in the small amount of freedom he had recaptured and let it burn him up.

                Creed’s hands were everywhere, pulling insistently at his clothing, hungry to explore every inch of the Cajun’s skin with his bare hands. He had LeBeau out of his shirt in seconds, letting it slide to the floor as the big feral made his way down his torso, licking, tasting and biting, rough hands always curled around some part of Remy’s body, holding him in place.

                Victor scraped his sharp teeth across one of his nipples, stopping to nip and then suck harshly for a second, leaving a harsh little love bite there that made LeBeau moan and arch, twisting slightly. His eyes flickered up at him, catching his expression for a moment before dropping his head again and working his way down Remy’s lean torso, scratching his nails down his back.

                “Ya like a little pain, do ya?” he grinned up at him.

                Remy looked up at him with those dark red on black eyes, hooded with lust and glazed with intoxication and before he took a lock of Creed’s hair and twisted it around his wrist, yanking the bigger man up to his level again only to grind himself hard up against the man, feeling the size and heat of his erection rubbing against him and stole another rough kiss. “Ye’d better make me feel it, cher. Dere’s gonna be hell ta pay in de morning, no doubt…gotta live in de moment.”

                Creed grinned, grinding up against him again, slamming his hips between LeBeau’s enough to jar the man and make him gasp. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that, sweetheart, I’ll have ya beggin’ fer mercy and lovin’ every second of it.”

                Remy grinned and kissed him again heatedly before managing to wriggle out from under him, rolling onto his knees and then sauntering over to the bed, keeping just out of Victor’s reach as he did, teasing him all the time.

                Creed felt the intense pull of the other mutant’s power, though he didn’t quite recognize it for what it was. All he knew was that his senses were all firing on full, and he wanted LeBeau in a more intense way that he’d experienced with any other mate.

                Remy tantalized and teased him, making his way over to the bed as he somehow managed to shimmy out of those skin tight leather jeans, leaving him standing there completely naked before pausing at the foot of the bed.

                Victor stalked towards him, hungry eyes eating up every line, every inch, of the Cajun’s naked figure, noting that the kid looked strong despite also looking a bit underfed. Remy waved him closer, pulling Victor in and letting the big man circle around him, hands roving, breath quickening as stepped closer. Remy craned his neck again, letting Victor nuzzle along his neck, smelling him.

                His eyes flickered up to meet the other man’s, “You’ve been with my kind before.”

                LeBeau didn’t answer, just pulled him closer and kissed, letting Creed push him back onto the bed, climbing over top of him, pinning him to the bed. Victor let himself breath the other man in, absorbing his scent, committing it to memory. He might not have bothered in other circumstances; some intrigues were more special than others. Most were mindless fucks that either ended in complete abandonment or violence.

                LeBeau felt…different. And he didn’t know why. It was driving him crazy in fact. He growled low, looking Remy in the eye as he pinned his arms to the bed. “What are you?”

                The auburn haired man cocked his head faintly, flinching slightly at the rough way Victor squeezed his wrists. “Empath. Among other things,” he answered, not trying to resist or break free from the bigger man’s hold, remaining perfectly passive. “Means I can tap into other people’s emotions…and, I can make dem like me, if I want.”

                Creed sniffed him again, pupils slightly dilated with lust. “You pullin’ my strings?” he muttered.

                Remy shook his head slowly, “Non, I would never do dat…dis is all you, mon ami, my power doesn’t control it, just makes it stronger…my Charm it has way of enticing people like you. Not sure why.”

                “Yeah well, whatever the hell it is, it’s like fuckin’ cat nip to me,” Creed grinned, leaning down and biting LeBeau on the neck and shoulder, earning another cry of pleasure pain that had the man jolting off the bed again, but Victor wouldn’t let him go, still pinning him.

                He came back licking his lips as Remy panted beneath him and moved to undress himself, while the Cajun watched with growing excitement and hint of nervousness.

                Remy knew Victor was big, but he had no idea how big until he was crouching there at the foot of the king size bed in absolutely nothing. The man was all hard muscle, sculpted and defined and tight, so much that Remy could see every little twitch. He glanced at his cock and nervously muttered a curse in French that made Creed laugh.

                Gambit crawled towards him, kneeling in front of him, hands running up Creed’s thighs lightly before moving inward, shivering faintly at how hard the man was in his hand. He gave the golden eyed mutant another look of surprise and nuzzled up against him in that same soft, teasing way that was steadily driving Creed fucking insane. “Mon Dieu, you are impressive…”

                Creed caught his chin, nail scratching him lightly, “Nervous, kitten? Ya said ya wanted to _feel_ it.”

                Remy gulped and nodded and managed to wiggle away from the feral before he could get a firmer grip on him, making his way to edge of the bed, but Creed caught him in one arm and threw him back, pinning him playfully.

                “Where you goin?”

                His partner laughed softly, the sound still off-kilter with intoxication, though his empathy registered a tiny spike of anger in Creed’s mood. He chose to ignore it though, reaching up to scratch behind Creed’s ear, which made the man all but purr. “I was just lookin’ for my coat, cher. Big boy like you, I’m gonna need a little help trying ta get you in—“

                Creed growled, bearing his teeth faintly and leaning in close to the Cajun’s long neck, making the man shudder faintly and bare his neck again, not sure where the sudden aggression came from. Creed rewarded his submission by licking him and then reaching down to fondle him teasingly, making the leaner man sigh.

                “You let me worry about that. Roll over.”

                He started to comply, only to have Victor speed up the process by grabbing one arm and one leg and flipping him, making him bounce slightly as he hit the mattress. Again Remy laughed, feeling the man nip and lick at his neck, pushing his now loose hair aside.

                “Anxious?” he grinned, rubbing himself back against Creed teasingly, feeling the man brush along his lower back and across the curve of his ass. Creed groaned, hips jolting and gave him a slap on the ass for teasing. Remy yelped in response, reaching back to rub the offended spot which still stung, but Creed grabbed his hand and flattened it to the mattress again.

                “Stay _put._ ” He growled.

                LeBeau nodded, feeling the bigger man move down his back, kissing and licking, the sensations making his nerves light up as his muscles started to relax a little more. His head was so cloudy that he didn’t quite register where Victor was going, nor even seem to realize when the man pushed his legs up so that he was on his knees again, face down in the bed.

                If Gambit was honest with himself, he had started to blur Victor with another man in his mind, the one he loved, the one he missed, the one he felt he would probably never see again; not in this life. Remy’s mind always went back to his brief time with Logan these days; it was his safe place, his happy place. It was easy to pretend it was Logan behind him now, devouring his skin and using him up. But Creed was rougher, more demanding, and meaner than Logan had ever been.

                Remy didn’t mind mean men though. They’d made up the majority of his sexual experiences throughout his life. Mean men were everywhere, there was really no escaping it. You just had to know how to deal with them.

                Victor was toying with him between his legs, not quite stroking, just pulling or squeezing intermittently, sensing perhaps he was becoming a little too compliant and relaxed. The man’s mouth was just below his tailbone, and then suddenly…

                Remy’s eyes went wide and he tensed and yelped, fingers suddenly gripping the bed sheets like a frightened animal. “Ah!! What are you—non!”

                Victor was licking him… _there_.

                Embarrassed, he tried twisting away from the contact, but Creed dug his hands into his hips and squeezed harshly as a warning, holding him in place.

                Remy squirmed and moaned; it felt so strange and so bizarrely sensitive. Every small movement made him shake, hardly able to stand the intensity of it. “Mmmm, stop please…it’s too much!”

                Creed dug his claws into his thighs and Remy winced, realizing complaining wasn’t going to do him any good here. He sunk his teeth into his lower lip and hid his face in the sheets, trying to keep from screaming at the heightened sensitivity and the embarrassment of having Victor so up close. Although he had to admit, he was somewhat shocked at how strong the man’s tongue was…

                The licking stopped after only a few minutes, but to Remy it felt like an hour, and Creed gave him a momentary reprieve, replacing his mouth and tongue with his fingers once he felt LeBeau was sufficiently wet enough.

                Remy jolted at the forceful entrance, crying out again and pushing back against him, feeling that Victor’s fingers were just short of his internal sweet spot. “Thought it was too much?” the feral growled behind him, “thought ya wanted me to stop?”

                LeBeau glared back at him over his shoulder, “Shut up and fuck me already!”

                Creed grabbed the back of his neck and slammed his head down again before mounting him roughly and slamming inside him enough to wrench another shout of the man under him.   Even with the prep work he’d done, it was rough and somewhat painful, but the haze of drunkenness dulled some of the nerves, so that LeBeau would not feel the full effect until tomorrow.

                For now all he felt was the pressure and the friction and the stunning fact that Victor hit his prostate effortlessly, making each rough thrust that much more intense. It was going to be over in seconds for him at this rate, and he didn’t want that…not yet.

                He started moving his hips slightly away from Creed, not allowing him to push as deep, squeezing his muscles to push him back as well. At first Victor saw this as resistance, until he felt Remy also pushing himself back in time with the thrusts to meet him, causing more pleasurable friction for the feral.

                “Not so fast, cher…we got all night…let me make you feel good too.”

                Victor was hesitant, not used to relenting once he had started; but Remy’s Charm was pulling at him again, making him hazier than alcohol ever could. He eased back, just a little and let go of his grip on the back of the man’s long neck. Remy got himself up on all fours and began to rock back on his own, more slowly, taking his time.

                He growled softly, enjoying the fact that Remy was so willing to impale himself on him, but the slow teasing movements weren’t enough for him. He jolted his hips upward without warning, making the man cry out again and laughed, knowing it’d hurt him a little.

                Remy pouted and then suddenly was up on his knees, sitting back in Victor’s lap, riding him with a bit more vigor, rocking back and forth as well as up and down. He leaned back against the man and ran his hand along his neck, scratching behind his ear and rubbing under his jaw. “Don’t be so mean…” he pouted.

                Normally this would have been met with a mocking laugh or a slap across the face, but Victor instead curled himself a little more around him, becoming a bit softer in response, kissing Remy’s hot spot just below his left ear and earning a long happy moan from the man.

                While Remy rode him, Creed moved his big hands around to touch him again, stroking his partner slowly and roughly, pausing every few minutes just to hear him beg for more. He admired the fact that the man hadn’t already come, sensing he’d been just on the edge of it for more than a few minutes now.

                But the kid was getting too comfortable again, and Creed was being too accommodating. He gripped Remy hard at the root and started stroking him faster, scratching his other hand down his chest, enough to leave long red lines. The Cajun shouted and twisted, but Creed kept him in place, grinding his hips up into him brutally.

                LeBeau’s mouth fell open and he clenched before letting out a loud shuddering cry and spilling all over Creed’s fist. The big feral grinned, burying his nose in the Cajun’s sweaty hair as he let his partner’s jolting body send him over the edge as well.

                Remy slumped against him, sweaty and panting, thighs twitching and shivering, already feeling the ache in his lower back from Victor’s last few thrusts. Hazily he knew that pain would be double by morning, but for right now it was worth it.

                Creed was purring behind him, hovering in the afterglow of orgasm, which was unusual for Creed, who usually could not reach anything akin to that kind of satisfaction until after many more rounds, and much more force and intensity.

                Remy lifted his arms and wrapped them around Creed’s thick neck, playing with his hair as he stretched up against him, leaning up to kiss his chin. Creed started for his lips, but the Cajun pushed him back, “Oh no you don’t, not wit dat filthy mouth. Use some mouth wash, then it’s all yours.”

                Creed growled at being denied, but surprisingly found himself complying, allowing Remy to pull himself free, groaning as he did, and spread himself out on the rumpled sheets, still breathing hard. Victor watched him for a moment, then got up, disappearing into the bathroom for a moment.

                Remy giggled again, feeling like he could barely hold open his eyes. All that liquor was hitting him hard, blurring things in his mind slightly, making him feel warm and numb and tingly. He figured the fun was over for the night however. If he was lucky, Victor would return and climb into bed with him, and they could sleep it off together before facing the inevitable light of day.

                But in the back of his mind he was already calculating what he would need to escape if things went the other way…even in this deep state of drunkenness, this survival instinct was too well ingrained into his being to be forgotten. Still, he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Creed reminded him of Logan, though they were vastly different in personality….he felt a little pang of guilt then.

                But before he could dwell on it further, Creed reemerged from the bathroom. He paused for a moment in the doorway, filling up nearly the whole frame. He exhaled sharply, practically snorting like a bull as he looked at the man sprawled upon the bed with renewed lust.

                Remy’s Charm picked up on Creed’s lust, sensing this time the feral was feeling more aggressive as well. He sat up hurriedly, crouched in the middle of the bed, wide eyed and anticipating when he saw that the man was not only still hard, but still fully aroused.

                Creed stalked towards him, and Remy started to crawl back along the bed, only to have Creed catch him by the hip and drag him back to him, lifting him so that the long-legged man hand to wrap himself around the bigger mutant’s hulking form.

                Victor kissed him roughly and possessively, and Remy tried to pull away for breath, but there was no escape. He did his best to kiss back, to meet the intensity, but was quickly overwhelmed by it. Victor grabbed his chin and turned his head away to bite at his neck, scraping his teeth along his sharp jaw and working down along the pulsing vein of his throat until Remy was shivering faintly.

                “Hope ya didn’t think we were done for the night,” he growled against his skin, still holding the man in place against him, teasing him by rubbing his cock against his backside. “Cause I’m just getting started.”

                He could smell a little ripple of fear in the Cajun, and almost expected him to resist. Instead Remy grabbed his face between both hands and kissed him hotly, bouncing up against him. “Den what you waitin’ for?”

                Creed laughed, jolting him against him as he moved his hands from his back and thighs to his ass, spreading him and pushing himself inside once more. Remy whimpered, the change of position being somewhat intense, especially since all his weight was pushing down on him, driving the man deeper than he had gone before.

                The only consolation was in this position, Victor couldn’t get as much leverage to thrust. Remy grunted and groaned, squeezing his legs and thighs around Creed’s hips in an effort to hold himself up. His hands clawed at Creed’s shoulders, gritting his teeth, until he glared up at the man, lifting himself high enough that the other man slid almost completely out of him. Victor tried to thrust back, but he couldn’t.

                “Dis de best you can do? Been fucked by drunk straight men better den dat--!”

                Creed snarled and turned, slamming the both against the wall, pushing Remy back down and going at him hard, letting the wall prop him up as he used the leverage to fuck the other man properly.

                Remy shouted and hissed, hands flat against the wall as Creed continued to control his hips, coming at him with punishing force. The friction and depth was starting to move past pleasure and into pain, and Remy fought his way back to the surface, doing his best to capture the feral’s attention again. Once Creed looked into his face again, seeing the slightly pained expression on the man’s flushed face he started to slow down, pulling Remy back to him and holding him for a second to let him catch his breath.

                “Don’t tease unless ya can take it, LeBeau.”

                “I never said I couldn’t take it,” Remy panted, “Just needed a change of position…”

                Gambit surprised him then by actually using enough force to pull Creed off his feet, sending both of them tumbling onto the bed. Before Victor realized it, the nimble thief had sprung away from him, flipping and rolling over his head and landing on the other side, knees shaking slightly, but standing on his own.

                The golden haired man rolled, grunted, nostrils flaring, muscles coiled, ready to pounce. He thought LeBeau was trying to run…then realized by the mischievous look on the man’s face that he was playing with him, taunting him… _wanting_ to be caught.

                Victor growled low and positioned himself on all fours, ready to pounce and Remy stumbled backwards, giggling and beckoning the man after him. “Better hurry, cher…I’m liable to get away…”

                “Heh.”

                He leapt off the bed with such force and propulsion that Remy actually shouted in shock as the man all but flew at him, causing him to fall backwards against the wall-length corner window of the posh hotel room. The glass vibrated under the impact as Victor cornered him, and for a moment Remy felt that terrifying zing in his stomach, as though he was about to fall.

                But the glass didn’t shatter, and even if it had, Creed had him, flipping him around and forcing his hands out in front of him, braced against the glass as he dragged his hips backwards, threatening to push inside without warning again. “That’s a dangerous little game to play with a feral,” he growled in the man’s ear, grabbing a fist full of his hair and yanking his head back slightly. “You got some kind of death wish?”

                Remy didn’t answer, standing there for a moment in silence, trembling faintly. Victor sensed a strange dip in his smell, something salty and wet coming to the forefront and realized Remy’s eyes were faintly glassy. But LeBeau smiled anyway, rubbing himself against the bigger man teasingly. “Sil vous plait...more…”

                Victor grunted, pleased with the man’s submission and positioned himself against him, driving in again, but less harshly this time. Remy groaned and sighed, feeling himself inching closer to that elusive second orgasm. He’d had as many as four in a night, but he was younger and…well the details were scattered and blurry and mostly unpleasant.

                He stared down at the city sprawled out below them, glad at least that the glass was somewhat tinted, so that he was at least slightly obscured from exposing himself to the whole street and buildings just below. His knees were shaking, so were his thighs, even his arms and hands seemed reluctant to support him as Victor drove into him rhythmically, making him dizzy with the way the pleasure and pressure were building inside him.

                His knees started to buckle and he slipped a little. Victor grabbed him and pulled him back, biting him hard on the shoulder as punishment. Remy yelped and whimpered, feeling more pain this time. “Wearing out, pretty boy? Too bad.”

                “Sil vous plait…”

                Victor picked him up again and dropped him down on top of the dresser, swiping the contents to the floor with a crash and a pop as the lamp broke and shattered and the alarm clock clunked sadly, buzzing faintly before Creed stomped it into pieces.

                Remy fell back against the mirror, Victor dragging his hips forward and going at him again. Remy held onto the jarring bureau with one hand while the other clasped the back of Creed’s neck, bringing him in closer as he as all but bent the poor man in half in other to fuck him.

                The Cajun’s voice was getting raw and breathy, slowly starting to fade into exhausted labored breathes, marked by low groans and hisses as Victor continued to bring him to the edge. He didn’t touch Remy directly either, happy to let the kid squirm to get whatever friction he could just from their bodies rubbing together. It was arousing but not enough to push him over, though coupled with the way the man kept hitting his prostate it seemed effective.

                His narrow hips started to buck and stutter, so close to the edge now he was frantic to finish. But Creed pulled out then, making him whine at the sudden loss of contact.

                “Didn’t say you could cum yet,” he growled. He grabbed Remy and tossed him on the bed, letting him bounce at the impact and then fell on top of the slumped man, who didn’t even have the energy to move or try to escape. He turned him on his side, grabbing one leg and forcing it up, almost painfully and pushed inside him again, thrusting deep and hard.

                Remy let out another shaky moan, clawing the blankets, and reached to touch himself, but Creed slapped his hand away with a snarl, and Remy submitted again. Victor was making such constant, rough contact with his inner sweet spot he couldn’t think anymore. His nerves were on fire, so close to the edge but still not quite enough to tip. He could do nothing anymore but pant and rasp, eyes rolling in his head. His mind began to drift again…

                “ _Logan_ … _Logan_ …!” the words were small and raspy, barely audible even to Creed’s sensitive ears.

                Creed shouted and cursed and Remy felt him twist and twitch inside him, all without stopping and felt something warm flood through him again. Victor laughed, obviously feeling quite triumphant at the complete domination he had over the man beneath him.

                He twisted again and gave Remy a few deep, bone jarring thrusts that finally did the trick. Gambit let out a silent scream as he came again, and then slumped into a trembling puddle where he laid beneath Creed.

                Victor grinned, stroking his thigh and back, “There ya go, ya little slut. All better.”

                He let Remy’s leg fall down as he pulled out of him, having gone only slightly soft and flopped back onto the bed, picking up a bottle of wine that was tucked aside on the bedside shelf. He pulled the cork out with his teeth and started to drink in long heavy gulps until he had drained it more than half way, then tossed it aside, sitting up to look at LeBeau, who hadn’t moved.

                He brushed his hand lightly down the man’s bruised and scratched back, “Still breathin’?”

                “…oui…”

                Victor chuckled at the trembling reply and moved over the man, leaning his face down close to his and kissing the little spot behind his ear. “Well? Did I make you _feel_ it?”

                Remy nodded faintly. Victor knew he was spent, utterly used up. Most of his lovers ended up this way, if not much worse. He actually marveled at the amount of restraint he had used with Remy. Yet, the Cajun wasn’t trying to get away or walk out, he wasn’t moaning and belly aching about how rough it’d been, or how nasty. He didn’t even complain about the bloody bite marks that now marred his skin.

                Creed approved of this…it was far less annoying and less taxing when he didn’t have to find a way to shut his partners up. And still there was that strange draw, that strange hold that LeBeau had on him. The one that made him want to please, to comfort, to…Victor didn’t know. These were all strange, foreign things to him.

                There was a knock on the door then that startled him, making him lift his head, still crouched possessively over Remy’s spent figure, snarling at the door. Victor sniffed and recognized the smell of the hotel staff. He growled and bounded away from the bed, stalking towards the door before ripping it open, making it shudder on its hinges.

                “What the _fuck_ do you want?” he bellowed.

                The man, much smaller and rounder than Creed, visibly flinched at the thunderous sound of his voice, and then again when he realized the man was nude. “S-sir! Mr. Creed, there’s been some complaint about the _noise_ from your room…is everything alright?”

                He attempted to peek past Victor, noticing someone else on the bed, but Creed lurched towards him and he backed up hurriedly. “If people got a problem with my _noise_ tell ‘em they can take it up with me themselves. I _dare_ them.”

                “M-m-Mr. Creed, it’s against hotel policy to—“

                The feral bared his teeth and growled, and the man shuddered, backing up further. “You got my card, little man, go ahead and charge whatever ya like to it. Just don’t fucking BOTHER me again. Cause if you do…” He showed his claws, admiring the way the gleamed in the hall light. “I’m going to have to make some _complaints_ of my own.”

                The man nodded nervously and took off running, and Creed shut the door behind him. “Run fat fucker, run.”

                He looked around at the ruined room, the stench of sweat and sex heavy in the air, making him snort and grunt in satisfaction. Remy continued to lay exactly where had fallen, still breathing heavily. Creed moved towards him, coming to stand at the edge of the bed, looking down at the ruined figure, considering.

                His claws were still extended, and Remy was largely helpless. He might try to struggle, but Victor would overpower him easily. It would be a quick kill.

                Remy opened his eyes into a thin slit, showing liquid black and that pale gleam of ruby. He didn’t move, nor do anything to show he sensed what Creed was thinking at that moment. He just laid there, staring. Victor wondered for a moment if the kid almost _wanted_ him to do it…

                He grunted, letting his claws retract and bent down, scooping Gambit up all too easily. He moved Remy to the head of the bed, throwing away the blankets to lay him in the sheets. The Cajun groaned shakily, more sore muscles and bruises announcing themselves, but was grateful for the silky soft feel of the expensive bedding under his body.

                Creed made him comfortable, then started exploring his hyper sensitive skin with his hands and mouth, licking every little bleeding abrasion and bite, checking the man for any severe injury. Remy remained passive through it all, teetering on the edge of passing out, only vaguely aware of Creed’s heavy presence over him.

                Finally, satisfied that his mate hadn’t received any greater injuries during their encounter, the feral settled down beside him the bed, curling his body around LeBeau’s so that the man could make no movement without him noticing.

                He lapped at the angry red neck and shoulder wounds he’d left on the younger man, feeling him become heavier as he finally succumbed to sleep. Victor felt a little bit of his Remy’s influence lift him from, leaving him blinking and feeling oddly empty for the experience.

                He’d never experienced a high like that during sex, not even with willing partners. Nothing came close. Victor was usually only interested in two things, slaking his lust and seeing his partner squirm, totally at his mercy. But Remy somehow unlocked other emotions, desires, opening up more sensations and experiences that went beyond his feral instincts.

                It was…almost frightening, that the Cajun could have that kind of control over him. Yet the other man didn’t even seem to be aware of it, or at least, he gave no indication he was. But he must be…

                Victor held him a bit tighter, deciding then and there that he wasn’t going to let this one walk away until he figured out exactly how he worked, until he understood LeBeau’s strange hold on him…and until he’d used the man up so thoroughly that nothing was left for anyone else. He smiled against Remy’s sweaty hair; maybe this was the start of something more, in fact. A partnership, perhaps. After all, if the kid worked for Sinister there must be something wicked in his nature. Creed would find it, whatever it was, and tap its full potential. He could use a new challenge.

 

**


	2. Chapter 2

 

                Remy dreamt of Logan. In his dreams he was standing in the middle of the street, screaming for the man, who was standing just at the opposite end of the road. He kept running towards him, yet he never seemed to get any closer.

                Remy tried to run to him instead, but his feet felt like they had sunk into the concrete. Upon looking down, he realized that they had, and the earth was slowly pulling him down, like he was sinking into the swamp. He was swallowed whole in seconds, still trying to reach for Wolverine…

               

                He came awake slowly, his eyes and face wet, realizing he’d been crying in his sleep. A tremor went through his skin, the kind that usually followed sudden wakefulness when the body was trying catch up to his mind. His head throbbed and felt painfully dry, though it was nothing compared to the awful, dry state of his mouth that made him cringe.

                He attempted to pull himself up, feeling every muscle twinge in direct result, only to realize he couldn’t. There was a rather large, heavy warm weight, pinning him to the bed. Remy squinted down at the thick arms that were draped over him, and slowly started to register the deep slow breathing of the man behind him.

                In the light of day, though it was just barely that, the faint warm light of sunrise coming through the large windows on the opposite side of the room, things looked…different.

                Remy struggled to get out from under Victor’s massive arms, almost unsure what he was seeing was real. Victor emitted a sleepy little growl that rumbled low in his throat and Remy paused mid-movement, turning to look at the man more fully. His back screamed as he did so and he moaned and shivered, sucking in a painful breath.

                Victor chuckled softly under his breath and looked up at him, his eyes looking like warm amber beneath heavy lids. “Didn’t know it could hurt so good, did ya, Gumbo?”

                Remy stiffened, and twinge of anxiety rippling through him at the familiar nickname. Hearing it from Logan it was it sweet, and comically endearing. But from Victor…it felt wrong, crass, and strange. He hated it. Victor reached up and to push his hair out of his face and Remy flinched slightly. Victor seemed surprised, though not exactly put off. “Aw, what’s the matter kitten? Don’t tell me you’re having regrets?”

                Remy shook his head slowly, willing his limbs to cooperate and slink away from Creed, who kept trying to pluck him back into the bed. “Non, non…just…helluva hang over…” He finally freed himself from Creed’s clutches and nearly fell on his face when he tried to stand. His knees buckled, his back throbbed, his insides felt battered and twisted. He groped along the wall, crashing into everything and not caring until he tumbled through the bathroom door.

                Creed laughed at him and stretched himself out in the empty bed, looking at the ruin and hearing Remy moan and curse faintly from beyond the bathroom door. “Need some help in there?” he called teasingly.

                Remy cursed him in Cajun and then gasped; “Holy shit! Is dere anywhere you didn’t _bite_ me!?” The naked man pushed the door open again, scowling at Creed. “Dese are _deep_ , homme and dey hurt! Gonna leave a god damn scar!”

                “Naw,” Victor grinned, unashamed of himself. “Just a little love bite, couldn’t help myself, you were so delicious.” He leveled his gaze at the man leaning in the doorway. “Now you gonna come back to bed, or am I gonna have to come over there and get ya?”

                Remy licked his lips nervously and slowly made his way back over to the man, forcing himself to walk up-right and steadily, though it obviously took a great deal of composure on his part. He sat down on the edge of the bed, casting about for any sign of his clothes, feeling too vulnerable to remain nude.

                Creed stroked his hair again and ran his fingers along Remy’s neck, eliciting a shiver from the smaller man. “Ya look so lost, LeBeau. Guess I scared ya, huh? Not as familiar with my type as you thought, I guess. But I was good to ya, wasn’t I?”

                Remy nodded, still trying to make his sluggish mind process what had transpired and where he found himself now. In the light of day, in cold sobering sunlight, Creed looked very different to him. He was still handsome, still alluring, all big and hard with a slightly mean look. Remy was loath to admit it, but he was attracted to that. But the way Creed was looking at him now made him nervous; he’d seen that look on the face of too many men before. It was that look that said they wanted to own him, possess him; and they were sure they already did.

                Victor of course, could tell that Remy was on edge, his fear scent rising though it was muddled by his general disorientation. While this might have been concerning to others, it was exciting to Creed. He wasn’t sure Remy _would_ be afraid of him, not sure he believed LeBeau’s early statement of not knowing what his powers could do to people like him. But this…this was the perfect level of nervousness to make him see Remy for who he was. Someone who wanted and needed to be conquered.

                “Hey,” Creed said then, moving a bit closer and drawing Remy in, “no worries, Cajun. You surprised me, last night. And not a lot of people surprise me.” He leaned in and kissed the leaner man, firmly but not harshly, and felt him relax a little as result. “Take it easy,” he purred, “I’ll be nice today, kitten. You played hard last night.”

                Remy cringed at the phrasing and leaned away but Creed pulled him back, “Don’t run off. I ain’t gonna bite ya no more…yet.” He looked at the wounds he left on Remy’s neck and shoulders and chest and leaned down to kiss them lightly.

                “Does it hurt?”

                The auburn haired man nodded dully and Victor nuzzled him and kissed the tip of his ear, “Poor kitten. What you need is a bit of the hair of the dog that bit ya…” he reached back towards the bedside table and scooped up the half empty wine bottle and held it out for Remy. “Have a swig, it’ll help numb ya right up.”

                But Remy’s empty stomach rolled at the thought of more liquor and he shook his head, “Non, merci. Just need some water and…maybe we close dose blinds?”

                “Sure.” But Creed didn’t move to do either, eyes still hungrily drinking up all the marks on Remy’s skin, admiring his work. “God damn, you are a _pretty_ little thing…no wonder Essex scooped you up. That dried up old pervert.”

                “Essex…”

                Remy suddenly forgot all about Victor, eyes wide, like he was suddenly dropped into ice water. He leapt up from the bed and the immediately yelped, falling back and cursing in bitter frustration, wrapping the sheets around his waist as he fumbled across the room, looking for his clothing. “Shit, shit, _SHIT!_ Where’s John? Oh God…did I…did I _hit_ John?” he asked, more to himself than Creed. “Oh, Remy LeBeau you gone and fucked yourself over _royally_ dis time! You be lucky if killin’ you is _all_ he does! _Sunovabitch_ \--where are my goddamn _pants?!_ ”

                Creed watched him rant and rave for a few minutes, enjoying the show, then casually climbed out of bed himself and sauntered over to him, casually taking the young man’s arm and tugging him around before lifting him, bed sheet and all, into his arms and kissing him roughly to shut him up.

                “Quit yer yappin,” he chided when he broke away, “come back to bed and quit yer belly-achin’. So you went and had yerself a little fun for the night—who gives a shit? Yer end of the job is over, and mine can be settled in a phone call or two. So why the fuss?”

                “I didn’t stay wit de plan, I left John behind…God, I don’t even know where we are.” Remy looked pale and worried. “What am I supposed to tell him?”

                “Dat things got interesting,” Creed grinned, setting him down on the bed again and climbing over him, pinning Remy against the head board between the heap of pillows. He nuzzled himself beneath the Cajun’s chin, kissing his bruised neck and breathing in his smell. “But I handled it.”

                Remy absently stroked the man’s hair, “Don’t t’ink you understand, cher. Essex keeps me on a pretty short lease dese days…I mess up, make him angry…” He felt sick and cold at the thought. Creed wrapped himself more firmly around the lean man in what seemed like a gesture of comfort.

                “Hey…don’t worry about it. Ye could always come with me…I’d get us into all sorts of trouble. But you like trouble, don’t you?”

                Gambit didn’t answer, uncertain if Creed was being serious or not. The man’s emotions were strange, dark and somewhat chaotic, too hard to hold onto, especially in his current state of fatigue and dehydration. But before he had a chance to reply, he heard a thundering knock on the door, followed by a jarring of the doorknob, before it came flying open, with Scalphunter standing there, glaring at the two of them.

                The older Comanche man’s dark eyes widened at the sight of the two of them in bed, especially the way that Victor was poised over Remy, and charged forward, lifting his machine grafted arm and firing something small at Creed. It turned out to be a taser function because the feral bellowed in pain as he was shocked harshly, before turning and ripping the prongs out and leaping to attack.

                Remy shouted in shock, but despite Victor’s greater size, John didn’t flinch. In fact he seemed completely prepared for just this sort of thing, because he cocked back his other fist and sucker punched the man as he came at him, knocking him to the side and sending him smashing into the coffee table. “You big dumb fucker! What the hell are you doing--!?” John shouted, grabbing Creed and punching him again, this time with armored fist. “—as if I gotta ask!”

                “Non! John! John stop!” Remy shouted, scrambling off the bed and grabbing at Greycrow’s arm before he land another punch on the feral, who looked ready to leap up and tear his throat out. But John shook him off, giving him a punch of his own and knocking him back on the bed.

                “You shut up! You’re in enough shit--!”

                Creed roared and tackled him, driving the man backwards until they crashed into the wall, causing a sizable dent and hole, making the people in the other room scream. As they grappled on the floor, both eager to kill the other, something bright and glowing suddenly caught their attention. Remy had charged a fallen vase from the dresser and sent it rolling towards them.

                Both rolled away hurriedly as it went off like a tiny bomb, burning and singing both and half deafening them. “KNOCK IT OFF!” Remy shouted, glaring at the two of them. “You want to make dis worse?! Cops are already comin’, can bet you dat! Someone wanna help me find my goddamn clothes so we can get de fuck outta here?! I ain’t spendin’ de night in no Texas jail, no sir, not wit dis hangover!”

                Creed tossed Remy his coat and his jeans, pulling on his own clothes as well, and the Cajun hurriedly scrambled into both, although each movement made him want to cry out, and the three fled into the hallway, disappearing into the service elevator before security could reach them.

                Once they reached the main floor, the three darted out through the service laundry room, startling several employees, and bolted for the back door, Remy limping along. They rushed through the back entrance into a narrow side street. John lead them hurriedly through the back lot until they reached another narrow alley, where he had stashed their van.

                John barked at them to hurry as he scrambled into the driver’s seat, while Victor and Remy threw open the back doors and slipped into the back. Gambit collapsed onto his side as soon as he was inside, moaning and cursing and Victor crouched beside him, hearing the sound of sirens moving in closer. Greycrow threw the van into gear and rolled out of the alley, disappearing into the traffic.

                “I don’t believe you,” Greycrow muttered from the driver’s seat, catching Remy’s attention, thought he Cajun wouldn’t look at him directly. “Have you lost your damn mind completely? You knew how important this was; to prove yourself. But you went right ahead and fucked it all up…” He smacked his fist angrily on the steering wheel and glared at him over the seat. “You spent a _month_ in that hole; did you not learn your lesson? You thick- skulled stupid little white hick…I ain’t cleaning ya up this time…ain’t talking ya down from crazy land either! You take care of your own little swamp-trash-ass cause I’m _through_!”

                Remy didn’t dignify his ranting with an answer, just looked on miserably and let the words go. Creed sat beside him on the floor, watching him out of the corner of his eye, silently observing. He knew the “hole” that Greycrow was referring to. He’d never been there himself, but he had seen others go in. It was something similar to solitary confinement, with far less privacy. It was a cell where Sinister put people, both those who worked for him and those he did business with, to break them down. He rarely ever set foot inside, but being a telepath, he didn’t need a physical presence to terrorize his subjects.

                The idea that LeBeau had endured a _month_ in such a place was no laughing matter. He suddenly felt like buying the man another drink. John was still ranting, and the sound of his voice was starting to grate on Creed’s nerves.

                “Jesus Christ, give it a fuckin’ rest would ya?” he snarled. John paused to glare back at him, and was silent for a moment or two while he navigated the road ahead. He pulled off to the side of the road then, and threw the car into park before turning in his seat to look at Creed. “You need to take care of your end. Do it, _now._ ” He pulled a phone out of his pocket and tossed it at the bigger man, who caught it and sneered. John nodded towards the door and the feral excused himself, climbing out onto the side of the dusty highway road to make his call.

                Once he was gone, the long haired man moved to climb into the back with Remy, who was sitting along the low bench against the wall, rubbing his head. He looked the man over in silence, shaking his head. Remy could sense his irritation, which always seemed present, but also the heavy under current of concern.

                He reached out and caught Remy’s chin, lifting his face to have a better look at him. “You look like hell,” he mumbled.

                “Merci,” Remy muttered in response.

                The bigger man moved a little closer, looking at him seriously. “You have any idea what you’re doing? Of all people, Remy, why did you pick _this_ one?”

“What are you talking about…?”

“That’s Victor Creed. _Sabertooth_. Ain’t ya never heard of him?”

Remy squinted, trying to recall. Yes, he had heard the name before; he’d seen it on news reports and in the papers, heard people gossip about it in little café corners and at bus stops. Sabertooth was a killer; and while that was nothing novel in itself, it was well documented that his victims were usually disemboweled, half-devoured, ripped limb from limb. It’d been difficult for authorities to identify most of his victims, and there were numerous crimes that he was just now being linked with from years and years ago; because the victims had always seemed like they had been torn apart by an animal.

He stared at John; “Non…non, it’s not de same man, couldn’t be.”

John leveled his gaze at him, then glanced towards the open van door, off to where Creed had disappeared. “You look at that beast and tell me he ain’t the same guy.”

Gambit licked his lips dryly. “Oh fuck.”

John patted his shoulder, “That’s the reaction I was waiting for. But too late now, kid. Guess it’s a good thing he seems to like ya.” He hissed as he looked at the dark bruises and teeth marks on Remy’s neck. “although if this is what he does when he _likes_ you, Christ…”

Remy swatted him away. “I’m fine, it’s fine…”

“Wont’ be fine when Essex sees ya. You know how he feels about this sort of thing.”

Gambit glared darkly into the grey bland interior of cab, “My body’s still mine, my thoughts are still _mine_ …he pays me to steal, he pays me to find other mutants, find out what dey can do…but he don’t own me that way.”

“We both know better.”

Remy slammed his fist against the wall, glaring. “Don’t you dare…don’t you…” He felt his throat burn, his eyes water. “I came back from dat hole, didn’t I? He can’t break me. _I refuse.”_

John hugged him then, which seemed to surprise them both. Greycrow never was much for affection, even at his most congenial moments. “Remember that. Remember what you just told me, because you’re going to have to keep saying it to yourself. He’s going to be angry, he’s going to try something. I don’t know what. Just remember that he can’t break you unless you let him.”

The Cajun nodded as John pulled away. Victor came sauntering back to the truck. “All taken care of.”

 

**

 

                Hours later, they were arriving at the entrance of Sinister’s largest stronghold, his central lab, located in deep in the mountains in Tennessee. The outcropping towns were few and small, and the roads that lead them to the entrance were seldom used.

                Perched among the towering misty peaks was a shelf of land, carved from the rock, overlooking a valley below. There was a large building, industrial in its design but not without beauty perched there. It might have looked like an old observatory to the average on-looker, with several large towers that one might easily observe the night sky in all its splendor, away from the glow of civilization. But to those within Sinister’s Inner Circle, it served as the gates to a vast kingdom of scientific experimentation and depravity. There was also a large glass dome on one of the outlying buildings. Remy knew that as the high, distant ceiling of Sinister’s Sanctuary, which housed his living experiments in mutant cloning.

                They drove up to the front entrance, departing their vehicle at the gate. Remy was limping more pronouncedly as they passed the initial security check, all three being scanned and identified by Essex’s heavy security system, before being allowed to enter the main building.

                Directly inside the front doors there was only a barren lobby that was dusty, dank and riddled with debris from where plants and other wild life kept creeping in from the broken windows a little further beyond. The structure, was in fact, abandoned some time ago by its previous owners; who had left it sometime after the Cuban Missile Crisis had ended. Sinister had left the original building in place as a guise, a distraction, though he had begun to renovate and expand into the upper levels of the abandoned facility as his needs demanded. But everything else…was just below the surface.

                They crossed the threshold to a set of elevators, which took them down, down, far below the surface, into an underlying cavern within the mountain side. Remy watched through the glass walls of the elevator as the descended, scowling down at it all.

                He couldn’t say that it wasn’t beautiful. Sinister had a certain flare for elegance and drama, and was constantly drawn to things that reminded him a great by-gone era of scientific advancement and discovery. The world he’d long left behind.

                It reminded Remy of old gothic horror movies he’d seen, especially of anything set in London. Everything was plush, classic, refined and somehow eerily romantic. The elevator came to a stop, and the three men departed, finding themselves standing on a cobblestone walkway surrounded by gardens. The plants that grew there were beautiful and vibrant, and gave off a heavy sick smell that made them all feel drowsy.

                Gambit glared at it as they walked, talking the trial up to the main building, which resembled an old English manner house, four stories tall, with neat, thin windows edged in black and a pair bright red double front doors, below a sweeping staircase that bordered the large, second story stone porch that boasted three thick marble columns. Remy found himself slowing down as they approached, afraid. He did not want to go inside.

                Creed was right behind him, looking around at the strangeness of the bizarre artificial environment with growing fascination. Especially the smell of mountain water that wafted over the garden’s intoxicating smells, indeed the place had its own underground reservoir which stood just behind the manner house, that gave off the appearance of a large lake shore. But Victor wouldn’t dream of exploring those dark depths.

                Everything here gave off a strange glamour of artificiality; almost as if the engineered environment was trying to be more brilliant than anything found in the outside world. And even that gave it the place its own sense of horror; it reminded Creed of candy coated poison.

                Scalphunter opened the doors and ushered the pair inside, and Creed chuckled at the heavy whiff of fear scent he caught off the Cajun once he crossed the threshold. Inside the grand foyer the observed another grand staircase and a large gleaming antique chandelier that dangled from a long chain from the high vaulted ceiling that went up two more stories. The artificial light from the high windows streamed down, making the fixture sparkle and twinkle in the hall.

                It would have been beautiful in the right context, but all of them avoided looking at it longer than a few seconds, as the dancing lights seemed to have an eerie hypnotic effect. Victor noted that the inside of the house smelled very different than the outside. Everything smelled, clean, sterile even, and even though the halls were decked in grey and gold damask wallpaper and cherry hard wood, and the floors boasted thick red carpeting, the place smelled like a hospital.

                A figure appeared on the second floor landing, looking down at them as they waited in the corridor. “I’m impressed,” a chilly, refined voice greeted them. “You’re earlier than I expected.”

                Creed looked up as the man known equally as Nathaniel Essex and Mr. Sinister descended the staircase, observing them with an air of thoughtful annoyance. Remy glanced up at him, noting that he had changed his appearance one more. The Cajun knew him best in two separate forms; the first being that of a tall, elegant, narrowed jawed man with slick black hair, who had first approached his foster father years and years ago for a job. It was the first time he’d met the man who would soon become the bane of his existence. The second time he’d met Sinister, it was as a heavily muscled and tattooed man who approached him on the street, offering the young runaway help for his condition…Remy had no idea they were one in the same until it was too late. The man who appeared to them now was closer to the first, tall and refined looking. But his skin had started to fade to a sickly shade of pale grey, and on his forehead was a tattoo of a red diamond. It was much more than a simple marking though; it was the focus point of the telepath’s powers.

                “We ran into some issues in Houston, but its fine now.” Greycrow replied. “The issue has been handled.”

                “Indeed.” Essex replied, coming to the bottom of the staircase. He glanced at them all for a moment, seeming to scan them with his cold black eyes, before settling on Remy. LeBeau did his best not to flinch away from his gaze, glaring at him in return, face a cool mask of animosity. He felt Sinister pushing against his mental shields, prying his way through the static field created by Gambit’s kenetic energy. It was painful, and Remy clenched, but he was so used to the pain of that intrusion that he reacted little otherwise.

                “It looks to me as if things got a little out of hand.” The scientist replied evenly, turning his gaze slowly from Remy to Creed, who just squared his shoulders and grinned. Sinister held him in his gaze for a moment, then made a distasteful face and blinked away, shaking his head. “That’s disgusting, Mr. Creed. You should be ashamed of yourself. I do hope you bathed.”

                Victor chuckled, hands in his pockets, “Don’t peek if ya can’t handle the explicit content,” he replied simply.

                Sinister rolled his eyes at him and stepped closer to Remy. He looked the younger man up and down, pulling at the collar of his coat, turning his head to better see the wounds upon his skin. Remy endured it with a scowl, hating to be touched, inspected like an animal at show. He expected Sinister to snap at him, berate him or strike him, but the man did none of these things.

                “Are you quite alright, Remy?” he asked then smoothly. “I understand that you were attacked by your target. I hadn’t anticipated him to be so…hands on in his aggression. Do you need anything?”

                Remy blinked at the man, not sure what to make of this. “I’m fine,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry dat things went off course, it wasn’t what I wanted—“

                “Of course not.” Essex smiled at him, squeezing his shoulder lightly. Remy couldn’t read his intentions; Essex was the one person he was never able to get an Empathetic reading on. This made him absolutely terrifying; and extremely dangerous. “Go to your room and rest awhile. I’ve made sure that it’s ready for you.”

                “Merci, M’sieur,” Remy nodded with a little bow of his head. He stepped away from John and Creed, casting a look over his shoulder a the tall blonde, who blew him a little kiss as he ascended the staircase with great effort.

                When Remy had vanished along the shadowy corridor beyond, Sinister turned sharply to Greycrow and raised his hand, slapping the man sharply across his face. Creed laughed loudly at the sudden attack and the fact that frail looking, prim and proper Sinister could practically sending Scalphunter spinning to the floor.

                Sinister glared back at him hard, the blood red diamond on his forehead glowing brightly for a moment, and Creed growled and whimpered, feeling a little spike of pain ripple through him as a warning. Essex turned back to John, who was looking meaner and more sour than ever. “I gave you ridiculously _simple_ assignment, Scalphunter, one that you _requested_ , and yet you cannot even manage that much without _bungling_ it to point of gross inefficiency!”

                John exhaled loudly, rubbing his throbbing face and split lip on the back of his hand; “The kid’s a handful, always was. I would have been able to keep better tabs on him, if you hadn’t called me away to haggle over some asinine detail!”

                “I pay you well for those _details_ , I expect them to be honored.” The scientist replied. “Do not think that because you managed to complete your mission by sheer _dumb luck_ it exempts you from my wrath, Greycrow. You need to remember where your loyalties truly lie.”

                “With the highest bidder, as always.” John grunted.

                “Precisely.” Sinister turned to Creed then, folding his arms thoughtfully as he studied the large blonde with renewed, dubious interest. “Mr. Creed, I trust you were at least able to complete your end of the task.”

                “Done and done. Too simple, if you ask me.” He replied, admiring his claws.

                “Clearly,” the man in the black suit replied. “Walk with me, would you?” He set off down the left hand corridor, and Creed shrugged and followed along beside, taking in the sights as they strolled.

                “You design this yerself?” he asked, looking at the classical portraits upon the wall, most of famous scientist that Victor had never heard of, others were classical renaissance paintings, usually depicting some form of human struggle between heaven and hell. “Your décor just _screams_ ‘I got issues’, ya know. Not to mention it’s tacky as hell. And creepy...” He looked at the gold gilding on the frames, and noted the expensive material of thick floor length curtains that lined the narrow paned windows. “But not cheap.”

                Essex raised a brow faintly in annoyance, “Your manners are more lacking than I had previously recalled.”

                “You don’t hire me to be the nice guy,” Creed answered as they swept deeper and deeper into the house, the hospital smell growing stronger, the temperature dropping. Soon the familiar plush interiors gave way to colder, more industrial settings as they pushed past a pair of locked double doors. The manner house seemed to disappear entirely, evolving into something akin to an old hospital, combined with a factory.

                They stepped down a long grey corridor that was lined with windows, overlooking a large laboratory below. Creed noted the rows of tall containment tubes which were glowing faintly red; each filled with a body, suspended among the luminous liquid and wired to various tubing and monitors. Men in white coats moved in and out between the rows, stopping to make notes, or glance and monitors, some working at other tables, or busying themselves over bits and pieces of other specimens. Each of the workers, upon closer inspection, looked exactly like the man who stood beside him, with only the slightest variations in size, or stature.

                “Must be a pretty easy screening process for employees,” Victor chuckled, “the only qualification seems to be looking exactly like the boss. Must make casual Fridays interesting.”

                “My workers are none of your business.”

                Victor shrugged; “Hey, you like yourself, I get it. It’s good to have that kind self-esteem, ya know? Do they all sound like you? Fuck, that must get annoying.”

                Sinister stopped for a moment and looked at him, “We’re getting off subject.”

                “And that subject was?”

                “Your interest in Mr. LeBeau.”

                Victor grinned, “Yeah…juicy little piece you have there. Hope you don’t mind a little inter-office relationship between us….cause I’ve already had his a—“

                “Yes, I saw.” Sinister cut in before he could elaborate further. “Remy is very special to me; his powers are quite fascinating. I’ve been trying to tap their full potential for some time now.”

                “Oh I bet you have,” Victor grunted. “That pretty little swamp rat gets you all hot and bothered, don’t he? Bet you watch him when he sleeps…” he laughed, shaking his head. “You are such a sick fucker, Nate, just sayin’. You make Dracula look kid-friendly.” He tapped his temple, “Ya like the show?”

                “Your sexual conquests don’t interest me,”

                “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

                “Mr. Creed,” he interjected, a bit more sharply. “from what I saw in your mind, you experienced a rather unique reaction to Mr. LeBeau’s powers.”

                “Whatcha mean?” Victor asked, becoming slightly less jovial at the idea that Sinister had also seen _that_ aspect of their entanglement.

                “I know your reputation, Victor, and that’s exactly why I hired you, and continue to do so. Your brutality, your simple instincts make you a perfect predator. And it’s no secret that you’re as brutal to your partners as you are to your victims; they’re practically one in the same. But, Remy…Remy was able to tame you.”

                Victor growled; “That little crawfish fucker did no such thing.”

                Sinister smiled under the thin dark line of his goatee. “He turned you into a purring pussy cat, Creed. You would have lapped milk out of his hand if he’d asked.”

                “Fuck off.”

                “The shame of it is that Remy, I doubt, even realizes the full effect he’s had on you. He’s quite aware that his empathic energy; his Charm, is capable of tapping into other people’s emotions, letting him adapt to their needs, and making himself seem more desirable to them. But he barely understands how. I would be greatly interested in helping him realize the full potential of his gift; with your help of course.”

                Creed raised an eyebrow. “And how does that work?”

                “Your feral mutation and senses make you extremely vulnerable to his influence. It excites you; doesn’t it?” Sinister continued. “And beyond that…he’s been able to stand up to your usual brutish ways. I can see how someone like you would find that irresistible. It must be rather difficult for you to find a lasting partner. And Remy, well, I’m sure he wouldn’t object to working with you further.”

                “So what? Are you going to pay me to fuck him?”

                Essex frowned at the crass statement and sighed, “Not exactly. In order to tap into Gambit’s full potential, I will need to put him through training exercises; creating situations where he’ll have to exercise control of his Charm in order to pass the scenario. And you, Sabertooth, would be the catalyst.”

                The feral thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “So you want me to _stalk_ him?”

                “I want you to _test_ him. Gambit must learn to harness his powers; use them to gain control over others. In example, yourself. I don’t suppose I have to explain to you what happens when he can’t?”

                A wicked smile spread across Sabertooth’s face until it stretched from ear to ear. “Ooh, Nate. That is… _evil._ I fucking _love_ your sick, _twisted_ little brain.” He clapped his hands together, rocking on his toes in excitement. “So! When do I start, boss man?”

                Sinister looked back down at his laboratory. “Your training will begin as soon as I finish work on a little something my collaborator and I have been working on in the past month. Right now, however, I have another little job for you.”

                Creed’s face fell slightly and he snorted, following after the man begrudgingly as they made their way further down the sterile corridors, past locked rooms that were filled with muffled moans and groans.

                The hospital smell was starting to give way to a host of other smells, blood, sweat and tears, decaying flesh, chemicals and others that were a mystery to the feral. It was somewhat nauseating, but Creed had smelled worse. He’d survived the trenches of World War One after all.

                They soon departed from the main house, walking down a long windowed corridor that crossed the grounds and connected Sinister’s manner house to the second building, which was towering a circular and lead straight upward, joining the mountain above, leading to the surface. Once inside the building, Victor found that they had emptied into a dark and sparse foyer, which contained only two doors. One was another set of elevators, and the other was heavily armored and gated door. Victor wished he knew what lay beyond, though he was also very certain it would be disturbing. Instead Creed was ushered into the lift beside Essex, who gave him a cool warning glance.

                Once the doors opened again, they stepped out into a new terrain. Victor blinked around at natural sunlight and the smell of not only nature, but other animals, a wide host of them…and something that smelled human. Or close to.

                The scene before him now resembled that of a large opulent green house or nature sanctuary, the kind often mimicked by high-end zoos and wild-life preserves. They strolled down a marble tile walk-way beneath a high glass dome, the same Victor had noticed upon arrival, between rows of expansive forested enclosures, filled with trees, bushes, lush grass and running water. Victor almost felt as if he could walk into any of these, but sensed a field of glass that was practically invisible separating them.

                There were animals, most native fauna; deer, rabbits, birds and such. But as they moved a little further along the trail he began to sense bigger things moving, just out of sight.

They came to an enclosure that had more man-made structures to it, this one a deralect ruin of a church, surrounded by overgrowth and thick black forest. He noticed then, a figure moving along the edge of the roof. It was deep blue, with glowing yellow eyes and a clubbed tail…it watched them nervously as they passed, then vanished in a puff of blue and red smoke, only to reappear on a tree branch deeper inside the enclosure. It’s yellow eyes watched them, and as Victor peered deeper, he became aware of more sets of the same.

The enclosure beyond this one had more man made structures, as well as an ample supply of water. More figures appeared on the edge there, drifting on the edge, making tiny whirlpools and skittering around. They were all naked, except for a sparse pair of underwear that covered their genitals. Victor had seen the mutant before, though he couldn’t recall his name…nor that there were so many of him. All five of the man looked back at him with blank, dull eyes, observing with curiosity but not exactly intelligence.

Creed glanced back at Sinister. “I see someone’s been playing with their Junior Cloning kit! How adorable. Ya made a bunch of retarded copies of already stupid people. Brilliant.”

“Don’t under estimate them, Mr. Creed. They might appear to be docile, but—“ Victor jolted when something hit the glass sharply behind him and he turned to see a naked, deranged version of Toad staring back at him, tongue plastered to the glass, hands clawing at him as if desperate to catch him.

Victor cringed. “Oh gross. Why _him_?” he muttered.

“Everyone stands a chance to be improved upon,” Essex answered simply. “The original Toad may be a degenerate, but with a little tinkering his powers could be quite useful and highly weaponized. That one secretes a paralyzing poison from his salvia. He’s killed all the others I kept in the sanctuary with him though, I’m afraid.”

Victor stuck out his tongue as though he had just licked something moldy and shook his head. “Fuck, man, ya ever thought about takin up Sodoku? Instead of playing scrabble with mutant genetics?”

Sinister smirked at his discomfort. “You have your hobbies, Victor, and I have mine.”

They came to another enclosure then, this one a bit more expansive, lacking any man-made structures at all. It looked rocky, mountainous, with heavy pines and tall grasses that dipped down into a little valley. To his surprise, Sinister tapped the glass, and it vanished, allowing them to step inside.

“What do you think of this one?”

Victor noted that even the air smelled different inside the enclosure, fresher, cooler. It reminded him of where he came from, and he turned to look suspiciously at the man beside him. “Don’t think you’re going to want too many copies of me, Sinister. I don’t play well with others and I tend to bite the hand that feeds me…and then eat it.”

Sinister chuckled a little. “Oh, I’m well aware. This environment was created for you, Mr. Creed, but not for _that_ purpose. I would never dream of trying to hold you here.”

“Then why all the fuss?”

“If you’re going to be working with Gambit, then I need him to see _exactly_ what you are capable of. Why he should respect you…and fear you. I have several rejected specimens that need disposing of, and I figured you would enjoy dispatching them.”

“What…in here?”

“They’re quite primitive, I’m afraid, lacking in higher brain function. I thought you could showcase your hunting skills, as it were.” He smiled slyly, and Creed nodded, moving further into environment. “Sure, sure. Mind if I test it out first?”

“Of course; I want you to be comfortable…” He had turned away only for a moment to check his pocket watch and when he looked back Victor had completely vanished. He smiled. “Take your time, get to know the place. When we’re ready to begin, I will let you know.” He turned without waiting for an answer and left the environment, not bother to reactivate the glass barrier. Creed wasn’t going anywhere.

 

**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Graphic death/violence, cannibalism, torture

 

**

 

Remy had retreated to his room, and after showering thoroughly, he had fallen upon his bed and laid there without further movement for the next several hours, as though he had been turned off.

The blackness lifted by the sound of a heavy knock upon his door, and Gambit found himself instantly awake, suddenly tense at the sound. His body was stiff, but ached slightly less and a he crawled off the bed and stumbled to answer the knock, feeling confused. Sinister never bothered with such pleasantries, and John usually just yelled for him. No one else ever visited him in his personal quarters…

He opened the door and to his surprise found Victor standing there, dressed in fresh clothing, leaning expectantly on the door frame, leering down at him with that same unsettling smirk. “Time to wake up, kitten.”

Remy blinked at him, obviously taken aback by his presence, “Why are you still here?” he grumbled. “He didn’t pay you yet or somet’ing?”

“Oh, I got my cash. And a bonus,” Creed answered, ducking into the room and glancing around. Like the rest of the house, Remy’s room was lavish. The walls were painted deep turquoise, the furniture all dark wood, from desk, wardrobe and tables to the large four-poster canopy bed. There were two tall windows decked in heavy purple draperies trimmed with gold. Creed was surprised that Sinister would let his prize pet have such an easy escape, until he realized how heavily panned they were, and that they were likely unable to open. There was also a purple velvet couch that sat in front of large white marble fireplace. Remy’s trench coat was thrown over the back of it, while his boots remained flopped beside it. Nothing at all in the room seemed personal to Gambit except for his clothing; there were no pictures, no personal effects, and Creed noticed that the couch looked more used than the large bed.

“It looks like a peacock threw up in here.” The large blonde feral muttered, slurping his own cup of coffee before turning and offering the other one to the man next to him.

Remy took it and chuckled a bit; “Yeah well, M’sieur Essex has very _specific_ tastes.” Remy answered, gratefully taking a drink from the cup in his hand. “But you still didn’t answer my question.”

Victor’s smile grew, “Looks like we’re going to be getting’ ta know each other better,” he answered. “Yer boss wants me for another gig; looks like I’ll be staying on indefinitely.”

Gambit considered this quietly, shifting faintly as he continued to slurp his coffee. He moved towards the couch and grabbed his coat and boots. “I’m guessing then that he sent you to fetch me; dat your new job by chance? Errand boy?” he smirked playfully, still not sure how he felt about Creed.

Creed looked him up and down, “Hmm, well, I suppose that’s still a step up from _your_ job title,” he chuckled.

Remy’s ruby eyes flickered faintly and he reached up to scratch Victor under the chin, immediately making the big feral purr. “Pretty face ain’t my only talent, mon ami. You just try me, I can make you forget your own name.”

Victor felt that pull again, that hypnotic grip on his senses that made him instantly enthralled by the young man in front of him. A warm current rushed through his system and made him instantly aroused, but rather than push the tall man back over the gaudy purple furniture and fuck him raw, he simply nuzzled into his hand, putting one arm around Remy’s trim waist before pulling him in close for a kiss on the cheek.

Gambit chuckled softly, toying with Victor’s hair before giving him a teasing little kiss on the corner of the lips, “Well, guess we shouldn’t keep de boss man waiting, eh?”

Creed seemed reluctant to release him, but gradually loosened his grip, allowing the nimble thief to slip free, darting around him lightly, crossing the room in swift, graceful movements that had Creed blinking. Remy turned and beckoned him after him, tossing his coat over his shoulder. Victor followed, slowly feeling some of the haze lift, making him feel that strange emptiness again that irritated him.

“Did he say what he wanted?” the Cajun asked after a few moments, finally snapping him fully out of his stupor.

Creed grunted; “Just that he wanted us to come to Laboratory Six. Said you’d know the way.”

Remy frowned, his mind immediately elsewhere. Victor could easily read the tension in the other man’s body, smell the faint spike in his fear, all but see the little nervous beads of sweat forming on the back of his neck beneath the fringe of his hair. “Bet livin’ in this place sure keeps ya on your toes,” he muttered. “Must be like livin’ in some weird twisted Twilight Zone episode.”

Gambit nodded faintly; “You have no idea.”

“So what makes you so damn special?” Creed asked as they walked. “Cause I got the feelin’ he don’t keep Greycrow and his other monkeys quiet as close and cozy as he keeps you.” He smirked, reaching back to play his fingers lightly through the faintly damp edges of the rusty red-brown hair. “What’s it like, suckin’ his weird grey-skinned dick?”

Remy reached back and grabbed his hand, twisted it harshly and used the momentum to flip Victor to the floor before bringing his boot down on his chest, the retractable bo-staff that hung from his belt suddenly extended and poised over Creed’s neck, the metal glowing faintly pink. “Better watch what you say ta me, Creed.”

“Touchy, touchy!” Victor laughed from the floor, putting up his hands. It thrilled him, seeing that anger and violence in Remy’s eyes, and he felt another rush of blood to his groin. The kid’s Charm was keeping him humming, but this little outburst was threatening to push him over the edge.

Gambit gave him a whack with the staff that sent his teeth clanging together and stormed ahead. Victor was laughing after him, catching up quickly as the Cajun descended a long gothic stair case that emptied into the foyer and to the walkway between the two buildings.

“Aw, did I touch a nerve, sweetheart?”

“Fuck off.”

Victor shrugged again as he loped along beside him, “Hey, ya can’t really _blame_ me for assuming. But I suppose he pays ya well enough—“

The staff was at his neck again and this time Remy looked murderous; “ _Shut your mouth_. You have no _idea_ what you’re talking about! I am here until my debt is paid…after dat…I hope he rots down here with all his disgusting experiments. If you had any _fucking sense_ at all, you’d turn around and _leave_.”

Creed looked at him flatly. “But if I did that…then I’d never know why you look like ya want to cut off my head, and why you smell like you wanna cry…” He grinned and gripped the end of the staff, pushing it away more easily than he guessed. “I like mysteries. Curiosity and the cat and all.”

“Just remember what happened to de cat, mon ami.” Remy grumbled turning away again. Victor allowed him the space of a few strides before following, licking his lips faintly.

“Oh, I remember.”

 

                They arrived once more at the foyer with the elevator and the barred doors. Victor hoped Remy would produce some kind of key or access code and show him beyond the gated entrance, but instead he stepped into the lift.

                This time, instead of traveling to the top floor, they only went to the second level. Here the air was not so close and thick as it was in the mansion or the lower levels, but neither was it as fresh as the Sanctuary. It was cold, however. Almost bitingly so, and the air had that same sterile burning scentless-ness to it that made Creed snort and grumble.

                Stepping off the elevators, they entered glass sliding doors. Everything beyond seemed to be extremely advanced, purposeful and slightly deadly in its efficiency. There were rooms, the dull grey color of cement and mountain rock, laden with circuitry, tables upon tables of chemicals, incubation units, coolers and samples, along side various operating tables and chairs, all shimmering under the glare of phosphorescent lighting. Victor couldn’t help but notice the wall near one of the operation tables that was lined with gleaming surgical tools, all sharp and gleaming.

                The only color to the place seemed to come from one particular corner of the wide circular laboratory, where there stood a couple dozen tanks filled with bright pink liquid, each large enough to contain a grown man. Most, in fact, did.

                Remy refused to look in that direction, moving instead towards a door which divided the open lab from several more isolated rooms. Victor, however, could not stop staring. Some of the tubes were empty, but he recognized several other faces within in the tubes. Each was a mutant of course; there was several of a young man known as Havoc, another few of a woman he didn’t recognize with red hair, and then there were the faces of several of his own “colleagues” collectively known as The Marauders.

                Victor laughed softly, noting that his own copy was not among the roster. He dared Sinister to even _try_ that shit. He was sure anything copied from his evil gene would be as endlessly corrupted as he was. A moment later they were joined by Sinister, who emerged from beyond the lab door.

                “Ah, thank you, Mr. Creed,” the scientist nodded, “You saved me some time in collecting our friend.”

                Creed nodded and looked to Remy, bending to give the man a little peck on the cheek, “We’ll have some more fun later, LeBeau. Till then, try ta cool that temper of yours.”

                Remy grunted at him as the man passed and he was left alone with Essex in the lab. The moment Victor had passed through the glass doors, Remy turned to look at his so-called benefactor. “You didn’t have to send him, could called me up here yourself. Or your telepathy feelin’ sluggish today?”

                Sinister smiled at him mildly; “I thought your little rest would have improved your mood; but I see I was wrong. One little night out and you’ve forgotten all your manners.” He chided silkly. Remy’s eyes dropped to the ground and he shifted nervously, bowing his head.

                “Desole, M’sieur. I…I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. Forgive me.” The words burned to say, and Remy felt his anger pooling in the back of his throat, chocking him, but he refused to let it show. Sinister nodded to him, placing a gloved hand upon his arm.

                “Much better. Walk with me, Remy.”

                Gambit kept his head bowed as he took up stride next to the lean, pale skinned mutant. Gambit tried to probe Sinister’s emotions, attempting to gage the nature of his mood, and what kind of punishment he had in store for him. But the telepath was blank slate to him, well-guarded against the empath’s advances. Remy felt cold inside, but he forced himself to remain calm. There didn’t seem to be much more Sinister could do to him that hadn’t already been done.

                “I must say, Remy, I am… _disappointed_ in you. I really thought we had moved past all this rebellion, all these outbursts of self-destructive behavior.”

                “It wasn’t my intention,” Gambit replied quickly and quietly. “De man you sent me to find, he was more dangerous den I realized, and once Creed entered de picture…things got complicated.”

                “And of course it had nothing at all to do with the fact that you were so heavily intoxicated at the time?” Sinister inquired, looking at Remy out of the corner of his eye under the line of his sharp black eyebrows.

                Gambit’s frown deepened. “I was tryin to make myself look more vulnerable to him, M’sieur. Creeps like dat, they look for people who can be taken advantage of.”

                Sinister nodded thoughtfully; “I suppose you are right. A good strategy, if you had exerted just a bit more self-control.” They had entered one of the isolated rooms along the center of the lab, in which there was a reclining chair that looked similar to those in dental offices, along with several coolers that lined the wall, a monitor that was suspended from the wall just above the chair. Remy lingered by the door, afraid to let it close.

                Sinister kept walking, moving towards the sink, where he quickly washed his hands. “Sit down, Remy.”

                Gambit didn’t move. “M’sieur, please…it wasn’t my fault…”

                “I said _sit._ ”

                He felt a sharp pain in his temple that was quick like a need puncture, and then there was moving, sitting in the chair obediently.

                “Please…” Remy whimpered, voice shaking. “…it won’t happen again.”

                Sinister moved towards him, coming to stand beside him, still smile that serene and faintly terrifying smile of his, the red diamond upon his forehead glowing faintly. “Oh my darling, I _know_ you won’t.”

                He turned his attention to the monitor, which suddenly turned on, revealing what appeared to be an empty mountainous landscape. Upon second look of course, Remy realized he was looking at one of Sinister’s artificial environments within the Sanctuary above, and that it was actually not empty as it first appeared.

                There were people, standing around rather awkwardly among the tall grass, naked and looking quite lost. But they weren’t just people. In fact, all thirteen figures appeared to be extremely similar. The camera seemed to move closer in on them and Remy realized with a sudden bottoming out of his stomach that each man resembled him _exactly._

“It pains me to do this to you, it absolutely does. You know how important you are to me; to our cause. But, I’m afraid you keep making the same terrible choices over and over again. You’re so self-destructive, Remy. Now of course, I don’t blame you for these tendencies, given all you’ve suffered in your life. Your mother abandoning you at birth, those terrible years in the children’s home, abandoning the only family who _really_ loved you to turn yourself out like a common prostitute and street hustler…”

                Remy struggled against the mental hold the man had on him, and Sinister forced his focus again, making Gambit cry out in pain before reaching over and strapping the man into the chair with physical restraints.

                “I left them to save them from _you_ , you fuckin’ vampire!” Remy screamed, sweating and shaking visibly, trying to fight back over the mental hold, but not quite managing. He was putting everything he had into the effort, while Essex wasn’t even breaking a sweat.

                The diamond on his head glowed a bit more brilliantly; “This is exactly what I mean. You are always making poor choices. I want you to _see_ where such choices will lead you, Mr. LeBeau. Maybe then, we shall understand each other.”

                He put his hand over Remy’s forehead for a moment and Gambit let out a shivering yell, feeling like he was suddenly being sucked down into a black vortex of water, all light and sound fading for a brief moment…

 

                And then suddenly he was standing there in the tall grass and sunlight, cool mountain air on his skin, the sound of shifting bodies and faint breezes rustling through the pines filling his ears. He turned and found himself looking at…himself. Or rather, one of his dopplegangers. Upon closer inspection, he realized that this clone did look slightly off. He was faintly taller, the hair was stringer, and his chest looked somewhat sunken in. They blinked at each other, neither speaking.

                He looked to his left and saw more, slowly edging their away along through the grass, drifting off in various directions up the sloping hills towards the rocky pines at the top, or drifting lower towards the little valley and river below.

                Remy tried to understand, tried to force his limbs to move, to run to react to something…anything…but nothing responded. His thoughts were racing, panic setting in…yet physically he showed no signs of this. He only started walking, somewhat clumsily as the others did, down the hill towards the little running river.

                It was like looking through a peephole Remy realized then; he could see and hear and feel everything around him, but he had no impact at all on the environment he was looking upon. He wasn’t really there, as if a wall was separating him somehow.

                He kept walking, listening for sounds, trying to glean some hint of meaning from this bizarre experience, slowly realizing he was inside someone else’s very empty head. His head turned then and looked back, seeing back over the crest of the little hill at the glass that separated them from rest of the Sanctuary.

                He thought he saw a faint reflection of movement…then he heard the grass rustling violently next to him. Something grabbed his head with painful force—then nothing.

                For a second everything was jarringly black and Remy felt a sharp tingle race from the base of his neck all the way down his spine, followed by immediate numbness and a sense of falling.

 

                Then suddenly he could see again, the world rushing forward. He was looking from a completely different vantage point now, having somehow moved from the edge of the hill to half up the slope of the cliff, looking down at the grass…and a body.

                Remy blinked. One of the clones was down, lying in a twisted heap in the dirt, it’s neck at an awkward angle. How had that happened? Wasn’t he just…? He looked beyond the body, realizing the clone was now laying in a very similar position as he had been previously standing.

                His mind boggled, trying to comprehend….what was happening to him?

                He heard the scraping of rock then and his body, all too slowly turned towards the sound. He saw Victor bounding at him on all fours, claws and fangs bared.

                Remy screamed, but no sound came out. He was thrown to the ground, Creed’s claws sinking into his arms and ribs, twisting in deep and securing themselves as those massive animal-like fangs sunk deep into his throat.

                Gambit shuddered and emitted a loud wrenching gurgle as muscles and veins were punctured, hooked and then torn at. Blood filled up his mouth and nose, all air ceased at once and his lungs started to fill with blood. Drowning, drowning in his own blood. Victor’s head snapped back, a hefty mouthful of flesh, blood running in thick red rivers down his chin and pooling in his collar bone. Remy twitched spasmodically, blackness eating the edges of his blurring vision, and then he felt Victor dip his head and sink his teeth into him again---

                Nothing.

                Remy jolted into awareness again, this time standing a little closer to his last vantage point. This body was shaking, clenched, ready to run. It was watching Sabertooth tear chunks of flesh from a body just like it’s own, which was still twitching faintly.

He tried screaming, tried willing this new form to run. Again, he had no control, he could only watch. He started to back away, inching towards the enclosure wall, then made the mistake of turning and trying to bolt.

                He heard Victor grunt and then roar, and heard the sound of his heavy body lunging after him. The clone gave a little shriek of fright, then a clawed hand wrapped itself around the side of his head and hurled him as hard as possible into the glass wall.

                Pain and bright flashes of light ripped through Remy’s consciousness, followed by suddenly seeing red. Another thrust, he heard a sickening crack followed by pain that rippled through every nerve followed making him spasm violently, followed by instant numbness---more blackness.

                Again he was jolted back to consciousness, like a man breaking the surface of water. This time he was nowhere near the glass, but farther out in the tall green-gold grass, which stretched up to his waist. He heard the thrumming of something heavy being pounded against something else, and it filled him with fear. He knew it was Victor breaking his previous body apart.

                The clone must have had some idea of that as well, because it dropped slowly to the ground and crouched on hands and knees in the dirt, shivering and listening. There was still no control, but this body seemed to be more aware, alert, at least conscious that it was in some sort of danger and that it should _hide._

                _“No more! Please, please no more!”_ Remy found himself shouting helplessly into the shadows, knowing Essex was there, keeping him trapped.

                No answer came. Remy wished he had enough command of the body he was inhabiting to cry or vomit or _something_ to express his fear and rage, but he remained helplessly suspended, feeling everything and only able to observe, not act.

                His heart, the clone’s heart, was pounding, blood rushing in his ears, sweating heavily. He was afraid. He was so very afraid. He did not want to be broken like the others were. But he was also seemingly aware that he did not know how to get away…

                The grass around him swayed and rustled in the wind and he remained as he was, wide eyed and shaking, listening, paralyzed by fear. The grass kept moving, but the wind was dying down. Remy tried to force his will on this body, reach out to the mind he was now hopelessly attached to and _warn_ him--!

                A heavy body fell on him just as he jolted, managing to scramble a few feet before having those same awful claws sink into his skin again, raking through muscle and tendons, crushing bones under their weight. He was flipped over, screaming, trying to kick the heavy body off him, to fight back…

                Creed’s claws went into his guts, piercing his stomach and intestines, liver…there was tremendous pressure as he screamed and light from the world started to fade, and that all too terrifying familiar feeling of blood rising in his throat…

                Victor was laughing down at him, dangling his own guts in front of him. “Shit, you never even got a chance to _use_ these—“

                Victor’s voice cut off like a television being shorted out. The blackness lasted longer this time, by perhaps only a few more seconds, and then suddenly he was surging back to consciousness _again._

                _“STOP! STOP! OH MON DIEU PLEASE!”_

                _“Now, now, Remy, I’m still not convinced you’ve learned your lesson.”_ Sinister’s calm, cold voice answered like a whisper in the background of his awareness.

                He didn’t live long this time. This clone was running, clumsily and loudly, along the hill. He fell, flipping head over heels until he crashed into a large boulder on the way down. He laid there, stunned, one leg broken. Remy felt the throbbing agony of it and looked down to see that the bone was sticking up through the skin, blood running in rivers down the pale limb.

                He looked up, seeing a shadow, and then Creed was on him, smashing his head into the rock. It was over in a loud crunch of bone.

                Less than three seconds this time, Remy snapped back again. This clone was scrambling, trying to climb up the rocky surface of a hill. The fact that he had enough coordination to manage this was impressive, and Remy, under the terror and the increasing agony, began to realize that some of the clones were far more intelligent than others.

                This one had thoughts of his own, thoughts beyond just fear and confusion. This one knew he had to get someplace where the monster couldn’t reach him, and if he went up, he might actually be safe.

                Minutes ticked by, Remy remained helplessly suspended on the edges of his doppleganger’s consciousness, waiting for the end.

                _“Stop dis…please…dey’re so afraid. Dey don’t know what’s happening to dem. Why are you doing dis? You MADE dem!”_

_“They are defective, Remy. They would never survive outside these walls and so serve no purpose. Defective things have no place in this world. I’m merely showing you this, so that you might reconsider your own value.”_

_“You’re a monster…”_

Creed found him. With another roar and a bone jarring jolt, a clawed hand forced its way through his back, popping out through his rib cage, grabbing hold of the bones and pulling him apart like a god damn holiday turkey…

                Lights out, and then he was standing on the edge of the high cliff, overlooking the valley below. This clone was nothing like the other, it wasn’t even sure where it was, how it had gotten there, or even if it was in fact aware of itself beyond the very basic senses. It wasn’t afraid at all it was…blank. But that did little to lessen the terror Gambit had, for that made it that much more frustrating to watch.

                He stood upon that cliff for at least five minutes before Creed found him. Remy expected to feel those terrible claws again, but instead Victor’s thick hand coiled around his neck, squeezing harshly and lifting the body off the ground, shaking it for a moment. Creed turned him and looked him in the eye a moment, his face a mask of blood, eyes wild, dilated and crazed, almost purely black in their heightened state of murderous euphoria. “Aw, this one’s no fun at all…look at it…” he shook the body violently again. “Knock knock? Anybody home?”

                Creed grinned at him, pulling him close for a moment and licking his face. “Guess not.” The next second Remy felt himself flung away, floating for a moment, the plummeting. He crashed into a tree top, feeling bones break, his spine twist and crack, then continued to fall…

                Blackness again.

                Four minutes until he resurfaced this time.

                _“NO MORE! NO MORE SIL VOUS PLAIT, NO MORE!”_

He lived less than two minutes this time, he never saw where he was, he only felt himself being lifted by his throat, followed by immense pressure. A second later he was awake again, only to find himself in the exact same situation, staring at Creed, who had him and the previous clone both by the throat. He squeezed so hard that Remy felt one of his eyes pop out of the sockets before it was over.

                The next two were a blurr and Remy knew crippling fear from both. The first he had caught trying to flee—he was fast, faster than all the others had been, but was still caught. Victor snapped him over his knee like a twig.

                The second…Remy had gotten a glimpse of his own heart before the blackness engulfed him.

                Awareness was more sluggish this time. Remy felt his own mind beginning to slip away from him, reeling, trying to detach from these horrible experiences. But Sinister’s control held him firmly in place, not allowing it. This body was already in pain.

                Remy realized that this clone had been injured in fleeing the others. It had broken both legs and was trying to drag its broken body across the ground towards the water. Remy kept trying to break the hold, his mind constantly teetering on the edge of blackness, ready to slip under and never emerge again.

                _“Do you understand now, Remy?”_

_“Let me die…please just let me die…”_

_“There’s no light at the end of the tunnel for you today, my darling. You will WATCH this.”_

                The clone had collapsed on the river bank, trying to get a drink. It was so tired, thirsty and miserable with pain that wouldn’t cease. There were footsteps.

                The creature trembled, then slowly turned. Creed was on him, pinning him flat to the ground, growling in his ear. “I almost missed ya, gimpy…” he laughed.

                The clone whimpered, trying to claw its way out from under Creed’s grasp, but Victor was far too strong. “Don’t worry little guy, you put up a good fight. I’ll be nice…”

                Teeth. Teeth slicing through the back of his neck. The body went utterly limp, but the blackness didn’t come. There was no feeling no pain, just a sort of dull dizziness as Victor picked him up in his mouth and shook him so violently he heard the bones of his own spine _crunch…_

                Remy came back to consciousness, screaming and sobbing. He was in the chair, staring up at Mr. Sinister, who was looking down at him with this sort of pitying disdain. “Hush, my boy,” he cooed over the Cajun’s tremor wracked body, smoothing his hand over Remy’s sweat-slick skin, pushing his hair out of his eyes. He turned and took something off the table next to him, and Remy vaguely felt a pinch in his skin, followed by a sudden heavy warmth.

                His head lulled to the side as the sedative hit him hard and fast, and slowly the shaking of his limbs ceased to a faint quiver here and there. “You brought this upon yourself. I sincerely hope you never make me do this again. You know how much you mean to me, Remy. I only want what’s best for you. For all of us.” He kissed the man’s slack lips and stood again, looking at the monitor distastefully.

                “Mr. Creed,” he called, watching as Victor reacted to his words. “The exercise is concluded. Please clean yourself up…I’ll be around to dispose of the mess.”

                “No need,” Victor replied, still chewing a mouthful of flesh. “I’ll take care of the scraps myself.”

                Sinister frowned distastefully behind the line of his delicately sculpted goatee. “If it pleases you, then so be it.” He turned away from the monitor and stepped towards the thick door, opening it and peering beyond.

                Greycrow was standing there, waiting. He looked hurriedly past Essex’s narrow shoulders, seeing Remy slumped in the chair. He glared at the telepath. “Guess you got your rocks off listening to him scream hmm? Should I have brought ya a change of tights?” he muttered.

                Nathaniel regarded him mildly. “He continues to need discipline. But I _will_ break him.”

John scowled at him and pushed past him, moving into the room and to Remy’s side. He undid the unconscious man’s restraints and lifted him into his arms, glancing at the monitor where he saw Creed devouring the remains of the clones. “There’s a special place in Hell reserved for people like you, Sinister.” He muttered. He made for the door, but Essex blocked his path.

“If you genuinely care for the man, as I know you do, Greycrow, you’ll discourage any further thoughts he has of leaving our little organization. He does so look up to you,” he smiled, “Set a good example.”

 

**

 

                Creed was growing faintly groggy with the heaviness of his feast. The heavy scent of blood, which now seemed to permeate the very ground of his private environment, kept his feral nature at the forefront of his mind. He was growing full however, and his blood lust was well quenched. For the moment, he contented himself by curling upon the ground, cleaning the remaining meat from a severed hand lazily as his thoughts began to drift.

                It’d been awhile since he’d had hunt like that. And while the thrill wasn’t as great as he would like, nor the prey as cunning, he had to admit that it did excite him. Hazily, he wondered if Remy had been witness to the show, as Sinister had suggested to him. If he had, the kid was probably shitting himself. But, in the same token, he would probably think twice now before waving his stick in his face.

                His eyes started to droop then as he pondered taking a rest himself, when he suddenly heard a small sound from somewhere to his left. Creed stilled, eyes widening, gold irises gleaming in the fading light above him.

                Slowly, silently, Sabertooth rolled onto all fours, stalking towards the sound on silent bare feet. His nose slowly started to register another scent among the grounds, something that was living, breathing and very afraid. The spike of fear scent sent another delicious thrill through Victor’s body, making him more alert, more eager to find the source.

                Whatever this was, it was bigger than a common animal. It most certainly _had_ to be one of the clones…Victor must have managed to overlook one. He grinned to himself, his teeth still pink with all the blood he’d consumed. Dessert sounded pretty good right about now.

                Finally, he approached the source. He was impressed; this clone had been one of the few that understood how to hide. It had somehow wedged itself into the gap between a mound of boulders, which was partially obscured by the tall waving grass. It was a somewhat perfect hiding place, as Victor hadn’t even noticed it until now.

                He crept up to the opening and lingered for a moment, hearing a faint whimper from inside, then grinning, thrust his hand into the gap. There was a tiny shriek of surprise as his claws coiled around a leg and he pulled the unfortunate creature from its shelter.

                But rather than set upon it immediately, he took a moment to look it over. This version of Gambit was smaller, more gaunt, looking to be somewhat of the runt of the litter. His black and red eyes were large, staring up at him in shock like a cornered animal. But other than the slightly larger eyes, the face was exactly the same as LeBeau’s, almost a perfect copy.

                “Hmm…yer a clever one, ain’t ya shrimp?” he muttered, leaning over the shivering naked figure, leaning down the sniff him. The clone whimpered again and cringed. “Well, I’ll give you credit for lasting this long. But, there’s no use drawin’ it out any further I guess.” He leaned down as if to set his teeth into him as he had the others.

                “Non…kitty, no!”

                Victor froze, startled by the sound, uncertain if he had heard correctly. He pulled back, blinking at the sparse figure beneath him. “What did you call me?” he grumbled.

                “Kitty…kitty no…” the clone pleaded again. His voice was slightly higher than Gambit’s, younger sounding and infinitely shakier. Creed began to realize that this was the first of the bunch that had ever uttered an actual sound other than a scream; not only that, he was making actual words. Whether or not he understood the meaning of them was questionable, however.

                Victor squinted at him, sniffing him again. The Gambit clone shivered faintly in response to the warmth breath on its skin, squirming again in an effort to escape the odd sensation. Victor grunted and he became still, baring his neck in a sign of submission.

                Creed was floored to say the least. The clone was smart; much smarter than the others, though it seemed to be operating on a more instinctual level. Creed pulled him closer, picking him up by the nape of the neck and pulling him into a standing positon.

                The clone stood shakily before him, still staring up at him with those big eyes as Creed circled him curiously. “Well…ain’t ya gonna run?”

                Slowly he shook his head no. “Why not?” Victor growled.

                The creature looked off into the distance at the bodies that were still scattered across the grounds and gave a little shiver. Victor chuckled softly, running a clawed knuckled down the naked man’s back, eliciting another little quiver. “Smart boy. Ya seen what I did to yer friends. But what makes ya think I ougtha let you live?”

                The Remy copy turned to him slowly, blinking at him for a moment or two, dirty hair hanging in his face, and then gingerly nuzzled up to Victor, keeping his head bowed and his eyes to the ground. He ended up dropping down against Creed’s leg, arms wrapped around the thick trunk. “Kitty no bite me…”

                Sentences. The fucking thing was making sentences. Never mind they were on the same level as two year old. Creed pondered his options. He knew Essex would be very interested in seeing that one of his defects may not be as damaged as previously thought. But Creed was not particularly interested in giving Sinister another pound of flesh to slice up.

                He was fascinated by the way the clone clung to him, despite being afraid. Certainly it knew better; it seemed very much aware that Victor could put an end to it at any given moment. Yet it threw itself on his mercy…

                It was a foolish thing to do. But Victor, while far from merciful, was easily swayed by the prospect of complete submission. Tentatively he reached down put his hand lightly on the top of the clone’s head, gently stroking his hair.

                When he felt no claws, the doppleganger eagerly nuzzled into the touch, craving his approval. Victor was hooked.

                He reached down and picked up the runt, who squealed nervously, but settled when Victor gave him a firm little squeeze. “Alright, shrimp. Yer coming with me.”

                He carried him down the hill towards the river bed again. At the foot of the grassy hill was large cave that was warm and dry, and had obviously been designed for Victor to hide in. There in the dark, Creed settled down, dragging the clone backward into his lap. He made a little squeak of surprise but didn’t protest, allowing Victor to scent him, burying his nose against his skin, hands roving all over him, checking for abnormalities or injuries.

                The clone was quite passive through the whole process, if not curious, still blinking those wide eyes in the dark. Victor licked his cheek, then his neck, then started down his back, cleaning the blood flecks and dirt from his pale skin. The clone didn’t taste or smell like Remy, despite being made from the same material. He had a strange sort of neutral scent, most likely from being created within on of Sinister’s incubation tubes. But Creed was steadily covering him with his own scent, holding him close and rubbing against him.

                His hands slipped between the clone’s legs, feeling that he was indeed identical to LeBeau in this nature. The man in his lap took a little intake of breath, but didn’t try to escape. He didn’t seem to understand any difference between Creed touching him there and everywhere else. Creed nipped softly at his neck, thinking, wondering…

                But there was no spike in fear scent, no sign of nervousness or even arousal. The clone had no idea what Creed was thinking, nor any idea that he shouldn’t be fondled there. Victor sighed softly; it would be no fun taking this one; not if he had no idea what was even happening to him.

                He grunted and leaned back against the wall of the cave, turning the mutant’s face towards him once more to have a better look at him. “Yer about as perceptive as a bag of rocks, shrimp, but yer awful damn pretty. Think I’ll keep ya around awhile, just to have a little fun. What do ya say ta that?”

                The clone simply continued to blink at him, but there was a small smile on his lips, and to Victor’s surprise the man turned a little more fully, nuzzling into him again. Creed chuckled and pushed him down onto the warm earthen floor of the cave before curling around behind him. “Alright, enough of that ya dummy. Be still, would ya? I need a nap.”

                The clone obeyed, surrendering to Creed’s possessive embrace and looking off into the dark for awhile. “We sleep now, kitty?”

                “Yes, now shut up.”

                The clone curled closer to him and closed his eyes. “No bite, kitty. No bite me.”

                “I won’t if ya shut up.” Victor grumbled. “Stop calling me kitty.”

                No answer, the man seemed to have dropped instantly off to sleep. Victor lay looking at him for a few moments, trying to reason out what he was going to do with the thing. Right now the possibilities seemed promising.

 

**

                Nathaniel Essex paced the floors of his laboratory, studying the now empty vessels that held his most recent experiments with Remy LeBeau’s DNA. It was certainly not his first attempt at cloning the young man, whom he had become so wholly fixated upon. There was a slew of other copies, who were housed in the Sanctuary above. These were all perfect in their physical aspects, and were fairly high functioning…they took direction, obeyed commands, responded to requests. But they were also somewhat soulless, completely vapid without constant command and supervision, and none of them were able to replicate Gambit’s mutant abilities beyond the faint spark of energy here and there.

                Remy’s DNA was something of an aberration; so fascinatingly unique that even Sinister, for all his genius and vision, had never successfully been able to replicate it. This made him believe that Remy held a secret inside him, a code that he had not yet been able to decipher, something that would ultimately set the mutant race apart from their human counterparts, and bring them to their full potential. Essex would never let Remy go, not until he’d discovered this key for himself.

                He sighed heavily, glaring at the empty incubation tubes. He could simply begin again with fresh specimens, tinkering with this and that, but there hardly seemed to be much point at the moment. But this new development with Creed made him curious…perhaps he’d been focusing on the wrong aspect of Remy’s powers. Maybe the key to unlocking them was to get Gambit to tap deeper into them, to harness his Charm in a way that would make him fantastically influential and infinitely dangerous. It was a risk, and Essex knew it well. But perhaps it was a risk he needed to take.

                “Brooding over your pet again?” a voice asked from the shadows. Essex didn’t turn toward the sound of his partner and colleague, dark eyes narrowed ahead of him in thought. He felt the other man move closer to him, his breath on the back of his neck. “You torment yourself over him, Nathaniel. I have to say it makes me a little jealous…”

                Sinister smirked. “Hush. You’re distracting me.”

                “You look as if you need distracting.” The voice cooed, thick and heavy with a faint growl to it, though it’s canter remained refined and clear. “That was a particularly nasty thing you did to dear Mr. LeBeau. I wish you had invited me to watch; it’s not often I get a chance to record data on someone experiencing their own death twelve times over.”

                “It wasn’t a show for you,” the lean black haired man answered; “I need him to fear me again, as he once did. But ever since he escaped and met that other feral mutant…I’ve felt my control over him slipping. He fights me at every turn, no matter how kind or cruel I am. I can’t have it, Hans, he _cannot_ be allowed to escape again. This time I fear I won’t catch him before Xavier does.”

                “Then why let him out on the job? I could keep him well under control, if you’d let me.” There was a wicked grin on the man’s face, under the line of his thick fur. Sinister turned to lightly stroke his jaw.

                “If I let you have him, darling, he would be as useless to me as his copies. I don’t want a will-less doll; I want a willing acolyte.” He sighed. “No, I must keep trying.”

                . He stared at the tanks and found himself counting subconsciously, then blinked. Thirteen empty tubes stood before him, but he only recalled twelve bodies…where was the last one?

                He turned and hurried towards the elevator, leaving his companion behind and made for the Sanctuary above. Upon reaching Creed’s enclosure, he found the oddest sight of the large feral spooning the remaining clone, lazily licking his skin in a manner that appeared to be more like grooming than anything sexual.

                Sinister entered the environment, approaching the cave curiously, causing Victor to open his eyes lazily and lifting his head, growling faintly and pulling the sleeping clone closer to him possessively.

                “Creed, what on earth are you doing?” the scientist inquired, blinking in distasteful confusion at the scene before him. “I told you to dispose of them, not play with them.”

                “I like this one,” Creed grunted in reply; “think I’ll keep ‘im around awhile, have a little fun with ‘im. He can talk.”

                Sinister seemed genuinely shocked by this; “Are you sure? In all my previous tests, he never showed any signs of higher intelligence—“

                The Gambit clone in his arms stirred suddenly, no doubt startled by the noise, and blinked up at Sinister for a moment before tensing and screeching, trying to move as far away from Sinister as possible. Creed caught him and kept him close, a quick squeeze and a firm hand seeming to be enough to gain his submission again. “Well, he seems smart enough to know you’re trouble.” Creed chuckled, looking back at his benefactor.

                Sinister frowned, still studying the figure in Creed’s hands. “How strange…I think it best you hand him over, Victor. I should run more tests, see what exactly went wrong with this one.”

                “No!” the smaller man yelped, grasping at Victor as though his life depended on it. Another first for Creed. “No! No want to go wit bad man…stay wit Kitty!”

                “My God, he _can_ speak! It’s somewhat crude, but to the point. Why does he call you--?”

                Victor shrugged, “Fuck if I know. You think he even knows what a cat _is?_ ”

                “All of my genetic copies are designed to be fully functioning adults upon revival; they should all speak and act exactly as their original source, but this batch suffered severe damage to their brain tissue in development….” He tried to move towards the clone, but it hissed at him like a wild thing and crawled further into Victor’s lap, scratching out a hand at Sinister as though he would rip it off if he could.

                “Yes, he’s definitely suffered some damage; reverted to a primal state. Still, these signs of aggression are fascinating, even promising. Give him to me Creed.”

                “NO!”

                Victor put a thick arm around the smaller man’s quivering form and held him securely, looking back at Sinister. “Nope; you gave up claim to them when you put them in here with me, Essex. He stays with me.”

                The goateed man scoffed; “Why? What on earth do you plan to do with it? Defile it I suppose.”

                Victor smirked; “Thought about it. Still thinking about it. Either way, it’s none of your damn business anymore.”

                “Creed, really…”

                “What, you said it yerself, he’s defective, useless to ya. So what’s the harm, eh? You’re not losing out on anything, and havin’ him around will keep me from getting too restless…unless you want to give me the original to keep me occupied.” He grinned again, nuzzling the clone’s neck and licking him a bit more seductively this time, making the smaller man squirm faintly.

                Sinister sighed; he really wasn’t in the mood to test Creed’s stubbornness, or to try to extract the clone by force, both required more energy than he currently possessed after dealing with Gambit. Pushing through the static of LeBeau’s mind always drained him; though he would never admit it. And perhaps Sabertooth was right; there was no harm in letting him keep the clone a while longer. It might even make for an interesting experiment all it’s own.

                “Very well, keep the thing if you insist, but—“

                “Timmy.”

                “I beg your pardon?”

                Creed shrugged, “I’m gonna call him Timmy. You know, like that little shit on South Park show? Seems fitting, right?”

                “I wouldn’t know. But if you insist on naming it, I suppose that’s at your discretion. I only require that you do not allow this to be a distraction to you in your work for me, Victor.”

                “’Course not.”

                “Very well.” He gave “Timmy” another dubious glance and then turned away. “I’ll expect you to be ready for your first exercise with Gambit by weeks end.”

                “Not a problem,” Victor answered, “what did he think of the show?”

                “Oh, I think it proved a point.” Essex nodded. “Good night, Creed.”

 

**


	4. Chapter 4

 

**

 

                Remy came up from sedation hours later, lying in his bed again. His body still slack and faintly numb, his eyes started to focus on the room around him. Upon recognizing the familiar surroundings, tears immediately formed in his eyes and he let out a anguished, frustrated sob.

                A hand was on his arm then and he was pulled upward, falling against a thick, warm figure who let him rest his head against his shoulder. “Enough of that, you’re alright.” John Greycrow’s gruff voice hushed him, rubbing his back. “I warned ya, didn’t I?”

                Remy didn’t answer and continued to sob roughly for several long moments before his stomach pitched and he gagged, turning away to vomit over the side of the bed, despite his stomach having nothing to give up but bile and water. John grimaced and staid beside the kid until the heaving and the tremors passed, keeping his hair out of his face and rubbing his clammy, shaking skin. When Remy finally started to quiet again he lifted himself from the bed and made his way over to the little circular table in front of one of the long windows, which held a tray of food and drink, provided by Essex of course.

                “Come on, get something on your stomach, it’ll help. Looks like he made ya an apology breakfast, there’s those weird powdered sugar donut things from your hometown and coffee that smells like that chicory bullshit. Remy?”

                He turned and the kid hadn’t moved from his spot on the bed. John moved back around, wondering if he’d passed out again, but Remy was just lying there staring blankly at nothing, eyes glazed and distant.

                “Knock it off. Get up,” the bigger man muttered, shaking his shoulder. Remy didn’t respond, he didn’t even look at him. Greycrow felt a pinch in his stomach; this was bad. He wasn’t sure what Essex had done to him in that room, but it must have been something truly horrific to reduce Gambit to this. He’d known the kid to take beatings, assaults, and plenty of close-call situations on the chin and keep moving. Continuing to move seemed to be the only way Remy ever dealt with the constant abuse he endured throughout his life. John had never seen him this despondent, except when they first came back to Sinister after that run in with the mutant with the metal claws.

                “Hey…” John knelt beside him, one rough hand on his face, thumb rubbing over one of his cheekbones. “Come on, LeBeau, come out of it. You go down now and he wins, remember? You’ve gone too many rounds with this fucker to let him beat you now.”

                Remy still said nothing, passive and motionless, lost in his mind. “You and I have seen plenty of bad shit, kid. Done plenty of it too. We don’t get to lie down, we don’t get to give up. That’s what makes us what we are, we’re survivors. Remember that time, it was raining so hard and we had no place to go, thought we’d both wash away in the flood? But we climbed on top of that roof over that bar-b-que place, got under the eve where it was dry and…”

                Nothing. Remy remained motionless. Greycrow frowned. “This is my fault. If I’da been in my right head, Cajun, I never woulda brought you back to this place. I ain’t got anything better out there waiting for me; I’m a cold-blooded bastard and I know it. But you had something…” He paused thoughtfully and then looked to the door, then the windows before moving closer.

                “Listen to me; I’ve seen the guy you were with, the one named Logan. I’ve seen him around, prowling the streets. I swear to God, LeBeau, he’s hunting for you. Me too probably. That’s something, ain’t it? He hasn’t given up on you.”

                Remy slowly turned his eyes on Greycrow as if seeing him for the first time. “Logan…? Logan’s looking for me?”

                “I don’t doubt it. Looks like ya got yourself tied up with another mutant with tracking abilities. I’ve seen him in at least three cities now, always searching, looking mean and restless. So if you ever wanna get back to that hairy twerp, you’re going to have to get over your shit and start working on a plan.”

                The auburn haired man pushed himself up shakily, wiping his face, trying to collect his thoughts and pull himself together again. “I don’t know…I don’t know if I can, John. He’s watching too closely, waiting for me to try something. I-I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”

                “It’s not about strength, it’s about out smarting him. Though fuck knows that ain’t gonna be easy. But you got the advantage,” he tapped his temple. “Yer energy keeps him out, right?”

                Remy nodded faintly. He still looked pale and sick. John left him on the bed and brought him some water and coffee, letting the man recover in silence for a while. It was more than an hour later before LeBeau spoke again.

                “Why you never tell me about Logan before?”

                “Cause I knew you’d try something stupid and probably get yourself killed in the process. And you aren’t the only one Sinister’s watching. Things have gotten weirder around this place while you were gone.”

                Remy stared at the mirror across from his bed, looking at his own miserable reflection. He usually covered it at night, whether out of old superstition or the suspicion that Sinister was somehow watching him through the other side.

                “He made clones of me,” Gambit mumbled, glaring at the glass “but then he let Creed kill them. I was in their heads; I saw it all, felt it all. You can’t imagine…He’s gonna kill me, John, I don’t know when and I don’t know how. But he’s gonna kill me, as soon as he figures out how to duplicate what I can do.” He shivered and felt ill again, the darkness of his thoughts bubbling up and threatening to overwhelm him again. But Greycrow grabbed him and looked at him firmly.

                “Then you don’t let him. You stay one step ahead, you make yourself valuable. That’s how you stay alive, that’s how you beat this fucker.”

                Remy nodded slowly. “Oui, you are right.” He turned and looked thoughtfully towards the windows, noting the faint glow of the artificial daylight outside, making the gardens gleam pale green under the gold eerie light. “I am getting de fuck out of this place. Or I’m going to die trying.”

 

***

 

                A week passed, and the Essex compound remained relatively peaceful, as the players inside each spent their time gathering their energies, plotting their individual schemes and making plans for what lay ahead.

                Remy finally emerged from his solitary room, having seen no one in the last few days except for the occasional check-in visit from one of Sinister’s worker clones. It had taken him all that time to gather himself, build up his mental barriers and decide what needed to be done next. He needed Sinister to believe he was shaken, broken, ready to obey. Convincing a telepath of such lies was difficult, but not impossible for Remy LeBeau.

                He’d been saving up his kinetic energy, allowing it build and pool inside him, until he was likely to explode anything with just a faint spark. The collective hum of it would help shield his intentions from Sinister, make it nearly impossible for him to penetrate into his mind. It was taxing on Remy as well, of course, but it was worth it.

                He passed a few of Sinister’s other henchmen; other unsavory mutants whom he’d met in passing during his previous incarceration with Essex. He knew few of them by name, though he recognized some by their appearance. There was a woman with long white hair wearing a green body suit that Remy recognized as the mutant called Vertigo; a small time thief, wanted in four states, suspected of a few murders as well. There was also the man with deep black hair and swarthy skin known as Riptide, a strongly built young woman who Remy knew more intimately as Philippa Sontag, also known as Arclight, and a short young Korean man who called himself “Scrambler”, and was particularly loathsome toady and wanna be playboy.

                Philippa spotted him as he made his away along the overpass above them, and looked particularly troubled to see him again. Riptide noticed her gaze and smirked when he saw Remy.

                “Look what the cat dragged in,” the man cooed. “Remy LeBeau, I thought we’d seen the last of you.”

                “So had I.” Gambit grumbled down at them.

                “Where’s John?” The dark haired young woman asked, sounding blunt and mildly irritated, but Remy knew that to be her normal canter. Say whatever you will about Arclight, but her feelings for John Greycrow were unquestionable.

Remy shrugged his shoulders, “I dunno, you will have to search for him yourself, cherie. I have business elsewhere just now.”

“Of course he does,” snarked the smaller man, Scrambler, into his hand. “Probably late to do his little card tricks while Sinister jerks himself off.”

Remy scowled deeply and felt heat rush into his right hand, finger tips suddenly flaring pink. He cursed as he grabbed for the nearest disposable object, which happened to be a vase perched along the railing, and charged it before pushing it down on top of the cackling mutant, who barely dodged it before it exploded, spraying them all with dirt and fragments of porcelain.

Riptide snarled at him, a rush of wind beginning to form around his body while Scrambler cursed and sputtered from his fallen place on the floor. A fight was imminent, but Philippa stepped in, grabbing her companions arm and giving Scrambler a kick for good measure. “Knock it off!” she glared up at Remy; “You’d better get that under control, LeBeau.”

“How about you worry about yourself, and let Gambit worry about himself?” he retorted, turning and disappearing into the next hall, leaving them cursing and arguing behind him.

Releasing the charge had eased some of his tension, but it also made his mind more vulnerable to Sinister’s probing. He needed to go someplace where he could keep calm, without any further fear of provocation. He had to be careful now; so very careful. Somewhere Logan was still looking for him; he couldn’t let the man down.

He found himself in the Sanctuary then and when he heard the doors slide shut behind him, he breathed a little easier. Real sunlight, fresh air, nature…or something close too. The Sanctuary, despite the fact that housed Essex’s host of oddities and abominations, was as close to normal as Remy could get within these walls.

The enclosures offered him a hopeful reminder of the world outside, made him remember that something existed outside this twisted wonderland that Sinister had trapped him and made him ache to be free again. He found himself drawn to enclosure where the strange blue devils lived. For some reason, they were very fond of Remy, and only came out into the open when he was present, gathering at the glass or on the limbs over overhanging trees so that they could see him better.

He stood there, calling to the little devils, happy to see that they looked at least well adjusted, and that not too many of them had gone missing. They chittered and cooed to him, speaking in jibberish and what Remy guessed was broken bits of German, but they made little sense otherwise.

“I’m glad to see you are well little ones,” he smiled at them. “Someday you will know a world beyond dis one. Though, ha, I wonder if it is ready for you, yes?”

Something caught the yellow eyed creatures attention then and he turned to see a new enclosure had been created across from theirs. “Hmm…dis is new.” He moved away from the Nightcrawler creatures, ignoring the environment directly next to this new one, which was swampy and forested. Remy knew what it was there for, even if Sinister hadn’t succeeded in populating it yet.

He studied the world beyond the glass, the high thick grass that lead down into a rushing river bed, the high rocky cliffs and the tall sparse pines. Remy slowly started to recognize the terrain as the same he’d seen from the clones’ perspectives.

He felt a chill rush through him and started to turn away when a sudden movement caught his gaze. A bird, bright blue and flittering, hopped from tree branch to tree branch, chirping shrilly in fear. Gambit blinked at it in confusion, only to suddenly see a much larger shape dart up from the high grass below the tree and catch the twittering bird in his hands and mouth.

Remy shouted in surprise as the figure dropped to the ground in front of him, the screeching avian dangling by one wing in its mouth. Remy found to his great astonishment that he was looking back at his own face.

He backed away from the glass hurriedly, his heart rushing in his ears at the twisted sight of his own naked figure crouched in the dirt, shaking the helpless bird until it made no more sound, blinking at him with wide curious red on black eyes.

Remy collided with a firm body, who put one big hand on his shoulder and made him shout again, turning to look up into the face of Victor Creed.

“Jesus, Cajun, you look a might spooked!” he laughed.

Seeing Creed before him, after not seeing him at all since the killings, and hearing the horrible crunch of bird bones behind with the black and red eyes of his surviving doppleganger behind him was almost too much for Remy. The world swam briefly and his knees buckled.

Creed muttered something in surprise and reached out and caught him before he hit the floor. He propped Remy’s lean figure against him, sniffing him, wondering if he was hurt or sick; anything to explain his sudden frailty. Victor didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary about him, however, except that he felt lighter, thinner, and that his skin had an electric prickle that made the fine hairs on his body stand up right when he held him close.

“What the fuck’s gotten into you?”

Remy fought against the urge to sink completely into the fog of his mind and go completely unconscious, but his body was still in panic mode, causing him to shake and sweat. He struggled to master it, to regain control before he became too noticeable, or even dangerous, considering the rest of his building energy was still seeking an outlet.

Victor leaned closer over Remy’s limp figure, intoxicated by the fear scent rippling off the man in his arm and the prickle of his energy on his skin. “LeBeau? You with me?”

Remy’s eyes slipped back into focus and he blinked up at Creed, feeling himself pressed so close to the man. His hands reflexively reached for him, seeking a firmer grip. Then before he could quite register what was happening, Creed leaned in and devoured his mouth in a hot, probing kiss, squeezing the man tighter against him.

Gambit gasped against his lips and felt another rush of energy ripple through him, creating what looked like a dozen little fuchsia lightning strikes between the two of them. The resulting flash of light and crackle of heat startled the clone known as “Timmy” within the confines of the enclosure, and he fled from the light, scrambling into a tree, looking on in terror at the man standing so close to Creed.

“Kitty!!” he shouted.

The sound brought Creed and LeBeau out of the moment, letting Remy fall back against the glass, catching his breath and looking back at the man in the tree in complete surprise. “Did he just say ‘kitty’?” he gasped.

“Yeah,” Victor muttered, moving past him to look at the clone with what appeared to be concern. “You spooked him. I’ll have to go get him down.” He sighed before looking back at his partner and smirking.

“So, uh…what’s with the fireworks? You go into hiding for days and then—“

“Hiding?” Remy muttered. “After what you did to me, the very idea dat you would even consider puttin’ yer claws on me--!”

“What are you on about?”

Remy pointed angrily at the clone who was still observing them from the shadowed tree branches. “ _Dat_! What is dis, one dat you decided to keep to play wit!? What brought on such mercy I wonder? You were certainly ruthless enough with the others!”

“Look, I was doing what Sinister wanted. It wasn’t personal—“

 _“NOT PERSONAL?!”_ Remy screamed, more lightning flying from his body, surging all around them, bouncing off the glass and striking at tree branches and rippling all the way up to domed ceiling above them, causing all the creatures within to run for shelter. The power flickered around them momentarily and Creed stared at Remy’s glowing figure with surprising new reverence.

“I WAS THERE, CREED! I WAS IN THEIR HEADS! I SAW- _I FELT_ -EVERYTHING!”

Victor blinked, letting the weight of Remy’s word sink in. He knew Sinister was a sadistic man, but this was a new level of wickedness that even Creed hadn’t thought him capable of. Clearly, he underestimated exactly how dangerous the man could be when crossed.

“Easy now,” he mumbled, raising his hand, “I didn’t know nothin’ about that. Jesus Christ…guess you were right about him being pissed at you.”

Gambit continued to glare at him, but slowly his energy level was dropping, returning him to normal once more, looking slightly drained for the experience. “Really, Cajun….I didn’t know.”

Remy sensed that Sabertooth was telling the truth, regardless of whether or not he understood the horror he’d put him through, or even had a shred of remorse for the lives he’d ended. For the moment his honest ignorance of the situation would have to be enough.

But Victor was already moving on, making his way back inside the enclosure, leaving it open to him. The big blonde made his way towards the tree where the smaller, naked version of Remy was hiding crouched and watchful.

“Come on down now, shrimp, it’s alright.”

The man in the tree shook his head vehemently, still staring warily at Remy from his perch. When Gambit made a move to enter the enclosure he hissed loudly like an angry cat, and Remy quickly thought better of it.

Victor glanced back over his shoulder at him. “You’d better scram, Cajun, he doesn’t seem to like you much. I’ll meet up with ya later.”

Gambit nodded slowly and bid a hasty retreat.

Only once he had vanished from sight completely and his smell started to fade did Timmy attempt to emerge from his hiding spot. Victor looked up at him expectantly, thick arms folded across his chest. “Get down here.” He grunted.

“No,” Timmy whined, “I don’t like dat t’ing, Kitty, he look at Timmy strange! No want him here, no!”

“The Cajun’s gone, ya scared him off. And if ya didn’t notice, you two have an awful lot in common.”

Timmy, emerging slowly from the tree glared at him dubiously. He had come quite a long way in his advancement in such a short time. Obviously a small portion whatever programing Sinister had in place during the incubation had remained intact despite the damage, allowing the clone to think, articulate, and express himself, even if the manner of it was somewhat juvenile.

He moved up closer to Creed, standing close and sniffing him the way that Victor so often had done to him. His nose crinkled after a moment and he backed away, whining. “You smell like him! I don’t like it!”

“Hush up,” Sabertooth grunted, tugging the smaller figure towards him and giving him an affectionate nip on the earlobe and along the neck to quiet his fussing. “Never you mind, LeBeau, he’s harmless. Especially right now; kid seems to be a few shrimps short of a pot of jambalaya.”

Timmy nuzzled him, glad for his alpha’s reassurance.

“I gotta go,” Victor muttered then after a moment’s pause. “Boss man’s a-callin’. You stay put, this won’t take long.”

The gangly brunette looked nervous, dubious, but obeyed his alpha’s orders, dropping into a crouch there beneath the tree to wait his return.

 

 

Victor caught up with Remy as they entered the manner house once more, turning away from the more domestic areas into the strange sterile ones beyond. Victor had to trot and bound to catch up with the long-legged man’s quick strides as he made to evade him.

“Ya think I’m that easy to avoid, do ya?” Creed chuckled, loping along beside him. Remy scowled ahead into the dingy neon light of the hallways, red eyes burning faintly like coals.

“I believe dat you didn’t know what Sinister was up to, but dat don’t change what you did to those clones. They were alive ya know, they had thoughts, feelings. You made deir last moments terrible ones.”

“They were lab rats, rabbits, LeBeau. I did them a favor. You think Essex would have let them go on, live nice quiet little lives?”

Remy didn’t answer, still marching forward. Victor sighed, putting his hands behind his head and lacing his fingers together. “You know, we’re gonna be spending a lot of time together from here on out. It’s gonna be a real bitch if you’re gonna piss and moan about every little thing.”

Gambit’s scowl deepened. “You’re a horrible person.”

“You ain’t no saint yerself.” Victor grinned. “Been doin’ a little diggin’ on ya while ya been holed up. Turns out you _are_ part of the Thieves Guild, the golden son no less, and the heir to it all, since that other LeBeau kicked the bucket a few years back. You’ve got a loooooong track record, _Gambit_ ; grand larceny, breaking and entry, identity theft, grand theft auto, impersonating a government official, impersonating a foreign diplomat…of course, those are the high-end stuff. The seedier things were much more interesting.”

Remy stopped, taking a moment to collect himself before looking to Creed, his scowl replaced by a smirk and shrug; “You are right, mon ami. We both have gotten our hands rather dirty. Sin is sin, non?”

He sighed heavily, pushing a hand through his shaggy auburn hair, “De one you saved, de man in the enclosure. He seems so…primal. Not like de others.”

“He was never like the other ones. This one could talk from the get go. Sure he sounded like an idiot, and I’ll never known how Sinister programmed yer damn accent into him, but he was able to get his point across. Since then he’s been evolving…becoming more like me.”

“He ate a bird.”

“Heh, yeah. Ain’t it cute?”

Remy grimaced. “It was sickening. And the way he hissed at me…it’s disturbing, Victor. It’s like looking at a twisted version of myself. Somethin’ straight out of Louis Carroll.”

Sabertooth admired his claws; “Relax, kitten. He may be made up of your parts, but he ain’t anything like you. Except that he seems to have a taste for us big, dangerous types.” He grinned, putting an arm around him, but Remy drew away. “Scared, sweetheart? Ya know, the real thing’s worth a lot more to me than a bunch of cheap knock-offs.”

Gambit didn’t answer, but looked unsure of himself. But the moment was interrupted then as Essex made himself known, stepping from a doorway into the corridor with them. “I expect a certain level of punctuality from my guests,” he sighed at them, frowning beneath the dark line of his goatee and folding his long arms. “Although, I am glad to see you both getting along so well. “ He looked to Remy, stepping close and putting a hand upon his shoulder. Gambit tensed upon contact, lips becoming a hard, thin line, eyes glaring ahead. “I’m glad you’re feeling more yourself today, Remy. I trust you are ready to move forward?”

“Oui, M’sieur.”

Sinister smiled, almost genuinely, and turned, guiding them through the nearest doorway. They entered onto a high walk-way, overlooking a wide open area that looked to have been vacant until just recently. The room was roughly the size of typical school gymnasium, with no outstanding features or characteristics, except that the walls seemed to somehow false, gleaming unnaturally white, same as the floor. Placed right above it, along the walk way looked to be boxed observation deck with tinted windows.

“Dis what you’ve been working on all week?” Remy asked as they moved along the catwalk, squinting down at the strange room below. They came to lift halfway between the door and the observation deck and descended below.

“Yes; it’s taken a good deal of my attentions, but I do believe it will be worth the effort.” The man beside him nodded, surveying the empty landscape with a satisfied smile upon his narrow face. He put his arm around Remy again, “This, my dear boy, is the key to getting you to unlock your full potential; to become everything we dreamed you could be.”

“Quoi?” Remy blinked.

“This entire room is a virtual reality simulator; the most advanced you’ll see anywhere on the globe. I’ve had it in the works for awhile, but never had the energy to complete it until now. I had an epiphany you see; a revelation that would have passed me by, were it not for our esteemed Mr. Creed.”

Remy looked quickly over his shoulder at Victor, who just shrugged.

“I realized that, although you’ve gained considerable control over your kinetic abilities thanks to my guidance, you still haven’t been able to gain mastery over your empathy or your Charm.”

“I thought they were minor concerns,” Remy grumbled.

“You’re _exceptional_ , Remy,” Sinister insisted then, capturing his attention and looking at him intently, making LeBeau shrink slightly under the intensity of his gaze. “There’s nothing minor about you.”

Victor rolled his eyes. “Jesus, why don’t you just propose already?”

Both Sinister and Gambit glared at him and he huffed and stepped aside. “So how does this shit work? You aren’t gonna make us put on some retarded helmet are ya?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Essex replied. “As you can see, there is an observation deck above you. That is also my control room. Once I’m inside, I will begin the simulation. I’ve created a wide variety of scenarios in which to test your skills. The sessions are timed for sixty minutes; your mission will be to make your way through the scenario without being caught by your opponent, in this case, Mr. Creed.”

“So it’s a stealth exercise?”

“It’s an exercise in _control_ , my boy. You’ll see what I mean.” He smiled blithely at the nervous young man once more and then departed, heading once more for the lift. “Sabertooth, to be fair, I’ll ask that you begin your approach from the other end of the room.”

Victor grumbled something and sulked after him, leaving Gambit standing alone in the middle of the room. “Any other rules to dis game? Or is it a free for all?”

“You may employ any weaponry or maneuvers you like. Obviously if anything becomes too dangerous, I will be pulling you both out. I can’t have you damaging each other.”

LeBeau grinned at Creed from across the room, taking out his staff and laying it across his shoulders. “Well den, dis don’t sound so bad. Maybe I even enjoy dis.”

“That’s the spirit.”

The lights began to flicker slowly, and Remy felt like the walls around them were starting to rotate and whirl, but he was unsure if this was illusion or not. The flickering became more frequent, creating a momentary strobe light effect that gave him a slight headache. Then the lights flashed once more, and he squinted against the harshness of it.

The air around him seemed to change, and so did the noise level. Suddenly the air was hot, thick and humid with a spice and faint smoke to it, and he felt movement and sound all around him. Remy opened his eyes and blinked in complete astonishment.

He was in the middle of Bourbon Street, surrounded by loud, raucous, euphoric mob of costumed onlookers, dressed in varying shades of emerald, gold and amethyst. Parade floats drifted past him, tossing beads and candies and little trinkets, along with a boat load of confetti and streamers. Remy reached up and caught a necklace in his fist and stared at it. The shape, the texture, the color it was all so real. Everything around him was real enough to touch.

A cluster of people standing next to him brushed past him, he felt their body heat, smelled their drinks on their breath, felt the ripple of their clothing. Gambit was so startled he could barely move or speak for a few seconds.

“Home…I’m home.”

 _“Not quite,”_ Sinister’s voice said in his head, a little louder than what was comfortable, making him flinch. _“Focus, Remy. The environments are tangible, you can interact with all of them. But you need to keep your mind on the goal. Creed is lurking about, remember? And he can smell you as well as see you, and your Charm is drawing him in closer than you might realize.”_

The Cajun immediately snapped to attention, shaking himself out of his haze and began to weave his way through the heavy crowds that lined the streets. With this kind of foot traffic, a big man like Creed would have a hard time maneuvering, and all the smells were sure to confuse him. All he had to do was stay quietly tucked out of sight for the next fifty minutes and he would be home free.

He made sure to walk slowly but purposefully, so that he would not attract attention to himself. Even his long trench coat did not stand out against the garishly dressed party-goers and tourist, many who were showing a distracting amount of skin.

Any who caught his eye he waved and nodded to, blowing kisses to pretty young woman and winking at the men, who all reacted in kind, shouting out greetings or cat calls. He passed a group of drunken college students, who were howling and screaming at everyone and everything, and traveling in such a tight pack that he couldn’t pass them.

Remy scoffed at the simplicity of this obstacle, stepping up to the group with a grin. “Pardon et moi, gentlemen! Enjoying yourselves, are you! C’est bon! Dat is what dis city is all about!”

They blinked at him, amused by his accent and his words, and Remy slithered between them, pausing here and there to give a little wink or a flirtatious little nudge. He was almost entirely through the group when one of the students caught his sleeve and pulled him back. “Hey, wait a minute, bro! You didn’t give us any beads!”

Remy smiled at him and planted a playful little kiss on his cheek, reaching into the man’s pocket and stealing his wallet for good measure; “Oh mon ami, I do not give beads, I only receive dem.”

The overly tan frat boy nodded dimly, clearly entranced, and pulled a handful of beads from his girlfriend’s neck before placing them around Remy’s. “Merci! Now, behave yourselves mes amis! Don’t do anyt’ing dis Cajun wouldn’t do!” he turned on heel and waved them off, beads bouncing around his neck as he went.

The younger man’s friends howled and cheered as Remy slipped past them, pocketing the money and grinning to himself as he left the youth blinking and stunned. “Too easy.” He laughed to himself.

The crowds were getting thicker now, the jazz music heavier, almost blaring. Remy was having a harder time traversing the crowd, many who were starting to pay a little too much attention to him. He collided with a bigger fellow, who knocked him aside and he stumbled into the street. Upon looking up, he caught a glimpse of Creed, stalking through the crowd, hunting him.

Remy didn’t know if the big man saw him or not, but he stood and darted onto the nearest passing float, crouching beneath the towering figure of a harlequin as it tottered down the street.

 _“Forty-five minutes left.”_ Sinister’s voice reminded him.

Remy nodded, taking a breath to focus himself again. This exercise was not about fighting Creed, it was about keeping under the radar, going unnoticed. Remy glanced along the streets and looked for an out. He noticed that the crowd was not too thick around a bustling café, and quickly darted from the float, through the parade of dancers and through the double doors.

Inside the air conditioning was blasting, and the smell of spicy food and thick caramel sweets filled his nose. The people inside were much more casually dressed, though all heavily decked in beads or holding masks. Remy darted into the back corner, away from the bar and made himself as small as he could. No one in the crowd gave him more than a passing glance, and Gambit settled in, pulling cards from his pockets and began to shuffle them absently as he watched.

He knew there was no way that Sinister was going to let him remain hidden here for the remainder of the challenge, but for the moment he was trying to run down the clock. He glanced through the café, wondering how deep it went and if he could in fact explore the entirety of it. If so, he could easily dart out the back door, or make his way to the upstairs and start roof hopping. That had been one of his favorites in the old days.

Muddy Waters started playing over the speaker and Remy felt a pang of homesickness like he hadn’t felt in months. It wasn’t just his city, his family he missed. It was something else as well…

A figure moved a little ahead of him, stalking up to the bar. Remy froze, staring at the back of the man. He was short, muscularly built, with a head of wild black hair that looked wind-swept constantly; wearing ripped jeans and a vintage flannel shirt that was probably older than Remy was.

“Non…”

Remy moved forward curiously, stepping closer to the man, wondering if he would vanish if he touched him. He noted the man’s thick side burns, and the heavy wear on his boots. All the details were there; if Remy could only see his face a little better.

_“Focus, Remy.”_

“Dis…how’d you know about--?”

_“This simulation has been largely derived from your memories. I see everything, or have you forgotten that too?”_

The strange phrasing made Remy snap back to himself, pausing in his pursuit just as the man turned towards him. It wasn’t Logan’s face. It wasn’t Logan at all. None of this was real, it was all a projection, some half-form of virtual reality and mental projection. That was why everything felt so real, so wonderfully detailed. But it was all an illusion, and worst of all, it was a trap.

There was a snarl and hail of flying glass. Patrons screamed and scattered away from the now broken picture window as Creed hurled a chair threw it before stepping inside. His eyes were fixed on LeBeau, gold and gleaming, that terrifying sneer on his face.

“Boo.”

“L’enfer!” Remy cursed and darted towards the back of the café as Creed tore after him, roaring all the way. The long-legged Cajun slipped into the backroom, knocking over other guests and waitresses as he vaulted up the stairs towards the upper deck of the restraint where there was a rooftop balcony and lounge.

The crowds were thicker up here and everyone seemed to be interested in Gambit as he passed, many trying to reach out and catch his attention. He cursed at them, knocking them aside, only to find them more eager the next round.

“What de fuck is--?!”

 _“Your Charm,_ ” Sinister’s voice snapped in his head, making him wince again. _“You’re letting your emotions get the better of you, it’s allowing your Charm to become stronger. FOCUS, Remy. He’s right behind you now…”_

Gambit whirled in time to see Victor crash through the doorway, his eyes slightly mad and dilated. “Don’t be shy, LeBeau, just want ya ta _earn_ those pretty little beads yer wearing!” he cackled.

Remy scrambled away, “You mean dese beads?” he asked, pulling a strand from around his neck and letting it charge before flinging it towards Creed. It caught him across the face and exploded, knocking him back with a snarl and a howl, and Remy sprinted out onto the crowded balcony, taking his staff and using it to volt himself out into the open air.

People screamed as he jumped from the second story height, only to land neatly atop another passing float. Creed rushed balcony and stopped for a moment, staring with flared nostrils, his hair slightly singed and frazzled from the explosion. Remy took a neat little bow and blew him a kiss before disappearing down the other side of the float, vanishing into the crowd once more.

Victor roared and leapt after him, crashing into the pavement as more onlookers screamed and moved away from him, but there was no clear sign of Gambit.

 

Remy had in fact, not left the float. He was flattened to the other side of it, lying on his stomach, obscured by an ungodly amount of fringe and paper machete steamers. He waited until they came upon a corner, then quietly rolled off onto the pavement and slipped past a street barricade into an empty alleyway.

The heavy shadows from the buildings dulled the heat and muffled the sound of the passing parade if only slightly. Gambit took a moment to catch his breath again leaning against the wall. His month in the a cell had made him rusty, he admitted, but he hadn’t lost his talents completely. That was something.

His thoughts lingered on the wild way that Creed had looked at him; terrifying and incensed. The waves of lust rolling off the feral were staggering, and Remy realized how much of an affect his Charm had on the creature.

_“Fifteen minutes…”_

“Ugh, shut up will you?” Remy muttered aloud moving further into the alley. It wasn’t completely abandoned it seemed, as the narrow street funneled into a court yard where there were several small businesses, also celebrating the day, albeit a bit more privately. There were couples locked together in passionate embraces, either huddled together around small café tables or pressed up against walls and under the shadowed eves of the fire escape.

People glanced at him as he passed, but most seemed undisturbed. He had control now; he just needed to keep it. The waitress offered him a drink and he nodded, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to test how realistic food and drink were here.

Fifteen minutes wasn’t a long time, it would take a good five, maybe ten for Creed to follow him here, and he had ample room for escape. It was almost over. But his thoughts began to wander again. If Creed’s feral nature made him this deeply susceptible to Remy’s Charm that he had lost nearly all humanity and fallen into a purely lustful, primal state…what did that mean for Logan?

As though conjured up by sheer will, Remy turned and saw the same man sitting there at lonely café table, looking at him under the brim of that tan Stetson. He smiled at him; “Hey Cajun. Got a moment ta spare?”

Remy’s heart fluttered. “Oh dis isn’t fair…” he whimpered. Logan stood up from the table and made his way towards him, smiling up at him. Remy started to back away only to have the dark haired man put his arm around him and pull him in close.

“Ya look like you’ve seen a ghost, darlin’.” Wolverine replied, looking up into Remy’s face with loving concern. “Ain’t ya missed me? I sure missed you.”

Gambit’s heart was in his throat. Logan not only looked exactly as he remembered ( perhaps even better), but he _smelled_ like him, _felt_ like him. Remy couldn’t help himself. He leaned down and captured the man’s lips with his and kissed him desperately. God, he even _tasted_ like him, warm and spicy like whisky.

Logan held him back tightly and Remy wanted to live in that moment forever, letting everything else fall away. _It’s not real_ , he told himself, though it brought tears to his eyes. _It’s not real! You’ve been still for too long!_

He broke away with whimper, shaking Logan off only to fall into someone else’s hands. It wasn’t Creed, but it was someone just as big, just as rough. The man pawed at him roughly, laughing drunkenly in his face as he attempted to cup Remy through his pants. “Where ya goin’, pretty boy? Got a good party goin’ right here…”

“Get off me!” Remy grabbed the man by the arm and flipped his over his shoulder, sending him crashing into the table where a couple had been making out. The crash caused the rest of the court yard to suddenly move towards him, all with lustful looks in their eyes. Gambit backed away hurriedly, only to find himself grabbed from behind again from more people moving down the alley way.

They grabbed and pulled at Remy, tearing at his clothes, trying to pull him into embraces and or kisses, others trying to touch him more directly. Gambit screamed and knocked them away, managing to free a hand long enough to grab his staff, which he charged and slammed into the ground. The resulting shock wave flattened the rest of the courtyard occupants, leaving Remy kneeling among the broken cobblestones, panting and shaken. His coat was in tatters, someone had torn his shirt and there were scratches just above his naval from a woman who’d been trying to tear down his pants. There was no sign of Logan among the stunned mob.

“Ya’ll fuckers need to control your urges a little better!” he snarled, pushing back his hair. “Don’t make me use dis boom stick again, I swear to Jesus and all de damn Saints you’ll be—!“

He heard a scraping sound, like claws over brick.

_Still for too long!_

Remy jumped just in time to avoid Victor pouncing on him, flipping off a table top before flipping again to reach the first level of a fire escape. But Creed was right behind him, bounding as easily as he was, with much more propulsion.

He turned to strike Creed with his staff, but the feral caught it and yanked it harshly, sending Remy rocking forward. He lost balance completely and went over the side of the rail, right into Victor’s waiting hands.

Gambit cursed and struggled, only to find himself thrown against the brick wall and pinned there by the larger man’s body, Creed’s snarling fangs bared. Breathless and trapped, Gambit dropped his staff and turned his head baring his neck. He was beaten.

Creed’s snarl dimmed into a faint growl and he leaned in, scraping his fangs lightly over Remy’s throat before licking him, forcing his knee between Gambit’s legs, forcing the tall man to stand on tip toe as he ground against him. “Dammit, let me go, you win…” Remy muttered, pushing back against the man’s thickly muscled arms, though he didn’t move him at all.

“Still got seven minutes on the clock, LeBeau,” Victor purred, sliding a hand up under Remy’s shirt, palm smoothing across his taut back muscles and back down to grip his ass. “And I want my prize.”

The demon eyed man looked him in the eye, “And what if I don’t feel obliged?”

Victor brushed his finger along his jaw, feeling the faint stubble there. “Don’t even pretend you don’t. All that adrenaline’s got ya half hard already,” He reached down and stroked Remy possessively, earning a moan and a sway of the man’s hip. “Ya like it don’t ya? The thrill of the chase, knowing any second you could be caught, having ta think on yer feet? Gets ya off, don’t it?”

Remy moaned as Victor forced his hand down the front of his jeans, and the Cajun grabbed the feral by the face and brought him into an angry kiss, biting his lip and whimpering as the man stroked him roughly. He was right, God how he hated that the man was right. Creed was grinding heavily against him as he continued to stroke the man, and Gambit did his best to return the favor, letting all other thoughts be swept away by the heat of the moment.

He was angry, excited, and confused all at once. The image of Logan was burning a little too brightly in his mind, he wanted him, he wanted back in his arms, he wanted the man over him again, kissing him, promising to keep him close and safe; he wanted it so bad he could scream.

Creed was baring down on him, covering him almost completely with his body, mouth and hands everywhere. The heat and closeness was too much, Remy felt himself giving over completely, escaping into his fantasy while Creed had his way with him.

The feral bit him and Gambit howled, gripping the man’s neck and pulling his hair, arching on his toes as he came abruptly, spots blinking in front of his eyes. Creed laughed and moved his hand from Remy, which was still sticky and slick, back to himself and finished as well, staining LeBeau’s shirt hem and the thighs of his jeans.

The lights began to flicker again, the blazing blue sky above New Orleans shimmered and faded, returning to the dull, cracked and water-stained grey of the simulation room. Everything faded into that strange bright white as Remy came down from climax, Victor still on top of him, licking his own hand.

Gambit pushed the bigger man back to allow him to slide down onto his own two feet again, feeling his knees shake faintly and frowned, hearing hurried boot falls upon the floor. “Shit.”

Creed frowned at him in confusion, clearly still hazy himself, and turned just as Sinister came upon them. Remy righted himself and started to speak, only to have Sinister belt him across the face, hard enough that he fell back into the wall. _“Disgusting_!” he spat, “You thoughtless, ungrateful little degenerate! Have you no self-control at all!? Have you no concept of what I’m trying to do for you!? Or do you possess a single thought outside your own selfishness?!”

“He caught me,” Remy muttered thickly, spitting out blood from where he had cut his lip on one of Sinister’s rings. “I did what I know best…”

“That’s exactly my point, you low-life little whore…” Essex seethed. “I’m trying to make something _more_ out of you, LeBeau, than a vessel for the seediest cretins to empty their bodily fluids into! You are a Mutant, you owe it to your own kind and myself—“

“I OWE YOU NOTHING!” Remy screamed, suddenly glowing like a glow stick, energy crackling off him in hot pink spikes, striking out at walls and railings and whatever target they could find, causing glass to break, panels and cement to crack and sparks to fly from unseen circuits hidden within the walls.

Sinister backed up, suddenly afraid, while Creed remained where he was, feeling his hair prickle and stand on end again, awed at the sight of Remy glowing with unlimited energy. It seemed very likely he would bring the entire place down on top of them, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to run.

Sinister regained himself, brow furrowing with determination as the red diamond upon his head began to glow and he focused his power upon Remy. “You will stop this;” he muttered.

Remy screamed, first with rage then with pain, grabbing the sides of his head as Sinister forced his way through his mental barriers. Creed watched as Essex himself started to struggle, seeming to struggle with entering Gambit’s mind. A small trickle of blood appeared beneath his nose as he fought, eyes boring into Remy as the Cajun screamed and thrashed, still coursing with energy.

But Remy wouldn’t relent, more and more spikes of lightning flying off him as he thrashed. Finally Creed moved forward, glaring at Essex; “Essex! You’re killing him!”

This made the telepath’s eyes widen and he relinquished contact at once. Remy sagged to his knees, the light of his body fading, only faint sparks gleaming from his fingers as he crouched there, panting heavily.

Victor moved from Sinister to LeBeau’s side, crouching next to him.

“Remy…Remy, I apologize.” The grey-skinned man began shakily after a moment, licking his lips dryly. “I…I lost my temper. I shouldn’t have done that. You are still learning…and I can’t deny the nature of your gifts. You did very well actually, for a first try. It only frustrates me that you give yourself over so easily… forgive me.”

Gambit said nothing, seemingly too spent to speak, dripping with sweat. Creed gathered Remy up, helping him to stand. “We done here?”

Essex stared at the bigger man for a moment and then nodded, shakily returning the lose pieces of his hair to their normal place. He reached for his handkerchief and dabbed at the blood beneath his nose, still trying to compose himself. He glanced back up at the observation deck, where he saw a shadowy figure looking back, then turned back towards Creed, watching him ascend upon the lift with Gambit braced in one arm.

_“What are you up to, Creed?”_

_“Think you know. You come down on him like this after the first run, he’s not going to want to try again. And we both know you want to see more…”_ Victor growled at him as they passed on the catwalk above, heading towards the door. _“Let me gain his trust…believe me, it’ll be worth it in the long run. For you **and** me.”_

 

_***_


	5. Chapter 5

 

**

 

                The other man had never left him alone this long. He felt…what was the word? It was there, somewhere in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t quite grasp it. All he knew was that he didn’t like the long absence of his Alpha for this long; the silence, the emptiness…it made him pace.

                His Alpha had called him “Timmy.” He knew that was not his name…or at least, it was not his _intended_ name. He should have been called something else. But that memory, that identity, was slipping further and further from his mind every day; lost in the flood of ever growing information and experiences. So if his Alpha said his name was “Timmy”, then so be it.

                Since Creed had left, Timmy had waiting, watching, expecting a speedy return. Since his arrival in the enclosure, Creed had never left him alone for more than a few minutes at a time. Even if he wasn’t directly interacting with him, the other man was still close by.

                But it was not just his physical absence that upset Timmy, it was being able to _sense_ that the man had gone somewhere else, somewhere beyond his range that frightened him. What if he never came back?

                The mutant grunted and whimpered at the thought, shaking his head as if to rid himself of it. The world around him was still so strange, so vastly new and somewhat terrifying. He had little concept of how to traverse it on his own.

                When his restlessness could no longer allow him to wait in the sheltered protection of the little cave that had become their home, the mutant crept out into the tall waving grass that lead back up the steep hill towards the trees and cliffs, and the strange barrier beyond. Beyond the little edge of his world laid very strange territory, and he was still trying to make some sense of it. He hoped that upon inspecting the borders, he would catch some glimpse of the man who called himself Victor.

                The grass rippled along his naked legs, tickling his skin faintly, and he let his hands play along it’s edges, studying their texture and length. He liked the smell of it, and the soft rushing sound it made when the breeze picked up, he liked how it felt cool and soft when he slept on it at night.

                He glanced above, at the high strange domed sky above him and the pale blue and white glint that came down through the high panes. Was the sky _supposed_ to look that way? Again something in the back of his fractured memories twinge and tried to tell him otherwise, but he shook it off again. He did not like that soft, sweetly sinister voice in the back of his mind, trying to tell him he was something and someone else…he didn’t know who that person was…he didn’t w _ant_ to be them…

                “Kitty?” He called out as he cleared the top of the hill. “Kitty, are you here?”

                No answer. He heard a faint rustling sound from somewhere down the bizarre dividing trail beyond the barrier of his home, heard the chittering exciting voices of the strange blue creatures with bright golden eyes, and the faint sluggish movements of something big and cumbersome even further down, though he’d never seen it. But no sign of Creed.

                Bitterly he turned, nervously scratching at his naked arms, as though trying to scrape the unwanted feeling of anxiety off his bones. He noted the strange markings on his skin, the bright red diamonds shapes that adorned either side of his shoulders. He still couldn’t figure out why only he bore these marks now that the others were all dead. He knew they set him apart, but why and how? These were things he couldn’t answer yet; he barely knew how to question.

He tried to focus his attentions elsewhere, tried to seek an outlet for the nervous energy that was collecting inside him. He had little desire to hunt, and no prey was readily presenting itself, and he would not touch the weird smelling offering left at the glass.

                Every morning there were strange containers of odd smelling food left at the edge of the enclosure, but Timmy ignored it vehemently. He ate only what Victor did, and seemed to be perfectly content to eat whatever he killed, and drink from the river. The strange offerings had an unsavory after smell to them, one that turned his stomach and made him feel frenzied and frightened.

                Pouting, the naked man turned, flopping down on his knees in the dirt to wait, glaring at the glass, hands balled tightly into fists in front of him. He would not be so anxious, he supposed, if Creed hadn’t left with that _other_ man.

                Timmy knew immediately that he disliked the newcomer. Since setting eyes on him, in fact, his head had been buzzing in a painful, incessant way and he’d felt a strange pull along with a simultaneous revulsion. The man, whom his Alpha had called “LeBeau”, immediately brought a rush shadowy, negative memories to the surface of his mind.

                They were all disjointed, broken and muddled…mostly memories of being submerged in something warm and heavy; a man’s bearded face above his, studying observing, causing him pain, and memories…memories of another place and another life that did not belong to him, driven into his mind like a nail.

                He hissed again, squeezing his fists tight enough to dig his nails into the rough palms of his hands, breaking skin and causing the faint prickle of pain and a warm rush of blood over the pads of his fingers. The young mutant did not like the way his Alpha had been so drawn to this man’s appearance at the edge of the world; he did not like the way he had touched him, held him.

                His Alpha had never held him in such a way. He didn’t know if he was supposed to _want_ to be touched that way, looked at that way, by anyone much less Creed; all he knew was that now that he had seen it, he wanted the same.

                As he continued to wait, hunched and glaring, he sensed a movement in the shadow beyond the edge of the enclosure. He jumped to his feet, rushing the glass, fully expecting to see Victor’s tall figure striding towards him. But his eager smile quickly faded as the shadowed figure stepped into the light; revealing a very different presence.

                Timmy fell away from the glass immediately, sensing the presence of a far more powerful, dominating being than himself. He drew back to the edge of the rocky ledge that lead up to the glass, dropping into a wary crouch as the figure continued to approach.

                He was huge, nearly Victor’s height and slightly broader. It was difficult for him to gauge, since the man wore a heavy white coat that made him seem even more immense. As he stepped into the pool of light in front of the glass, Timmy saw that he was more creature than human; covered in dark greyish blue hair from head to toe. His eyes were gold and cat-like, and his ears were long and pointed at tapered up the edges of his head along with the thick tuffs of fur that crowned his head.

                “Well, well, look at you,”

                Timmy jumped at the man’s words, obviously unprepared for the creature to speak. The voice was smooth and measured, having a strange canter to it that he felt he had heard somewhere before in the shadowy nightmares of his memories.

                The furred creature laughed at his skittishness, leaning a little closer to the glass. “My, how you’ve grown in such a short time, Thirteen! I have to admit, I never would have suspected this sort of incredulous turn around in your development. You seemed the most hopeless of the bunch, in fact.”

                _Thirteen…Thirteen_ …

                Timmy flinched at the word, the strange pain in triggered in his mind. He began scratching at the back of his neck, which seemed to burn him suddenly. “ _Not_ _Thirteen!”_ he spat back at the stranger, baring his teeth, black and red eyes narrowed angrily. “I’m Timmy…I’m Timmy now.”

                The creature on the other side of the glass gave a little chortle; “Yes; a ridiculous pet name. What can you expect from a cretin like Creed though, really? But I suppose if you prefer it…” He tapped his fingers rhythmically along the glass, and it dissolved, allowing him to step fully inside the enclosure. “Why don’t you come here and let me have a look at you?”

                An instinctual alarm went off inside Timmy’s head. He still had no idea what this man—this thing—was, or what he wanted with him, but he _knew_ he could not let himself be caught. He turned and darted through the grass, taking a running leap at the nearest pine, grabbing the lowest branch and swinging himself up onto it with stunning ease and agility. He bounded up two more, then a third, then a forth, until he was over seventeen feet in the air, looking down at the beastly creature below him.

                “Clever little minx,” the other mused, grinning up at him with white, fang-like teeth that set shiver through the naked mutant. “You’re much smarter than Nathaniel suggested…here I thought I would be facing a squawking savage…but you’re something quite different, aren’t you? Not a LeBeau at all perhaps, but something… _new._ ”

                Timmy hissed at him like an angry cat, showing his teeth as Victor had showed him and twisted himself around the trunk, letting the shadows of the heavy needle-filled pines hide him a little further from view.

                “Oh, don’t you believe for one second that you’re safe up there, _Timothy._ If I have to come up and fetch you, believe me, I shall. But I want to give you a chance…come down here, right now.”

                He waited, watching to see if the clone would obey. There seemed to be a moment’s hesitation, a look of confusion and mild panic on the man’s features, as if unsure who or what he should obey.

                “Well, you certainly have a will of your own. How remarkable. And to think I almost flushed you to use for dissection practice!”

                Timmy hissed again, looking extremely distressed.

                “Oh but you do remember mejust a little, don’t you?” The big cat-like creature was shrugging out of his coat, sizing up the distance between himself and the clone. Timmy trembled, nervously looking upward for the next highest branch.

                There was a sudden roar then, and the blue-furred creature was grabbed from behind and tossed aside by a familiar set of hands.

 

                “What the _fuck_ are you doin’?” Creed barked, teeth bared, claws and fangs prominent , hair flying as he sent the other mutant rolling into the dirt. He stood there, coiled and tense, ready to pounce again, trying to make sense of what he was seeing in front of him. He sniffed him, nostrils flaring, eyes narrowed, and frowned.

                “You got an eerie resemblance to a hoity-toity politician I know,” Sabertooth rumbled. “But ya don’t smell anything like the Hank McCoy I’ve tangled with.”

                “That’s because I’m _not_ Hank McCoy. Or rather, not the Hank McCoy of _this_ world.” He shuffled his things and extended a thick paw-like hand to Creed. “Doctor _Hans_ McCoy. I find the name change makes everything a bit less confusing. And it has a certain… _elegance_ , don’t you think? A certain prestige?”

                Creed raised an eyebrow, clearly uninterested, or concerned about the man’s titles. He shunned the man’s extended hand, instead snorting and circling him, drawing himself up to full height. “Yer in my _space_ , Doc. Messin’ with what’s _mine._ I don’t recall inviting ya.”

                The other mutant took his coat and straightened it across his broad shoulders again; “You’re quite right, Mr. Creed, I have encroached on your territory, as it were. I understand that this must be somewhat uncomfortable for you, but be assured…I’m here with good reason.”

                Victor growled low and showed the man his clawed hand; “Don’t really give two shits about _reasons_.”

                “Well, that is unfortunate for you. But I wouldn’t be so hasty in your desire to tear me to ribbons; I’m certain our mutual friend Doctor Essex would take some issue with your violent outburst against one of his colleagues.”

                The blonde feral grunted, fumbling through the words for a clearer meaning. “You work for Essex?”

                _“With Essex_ , my good man. I’m his silent partner.”

                The taller man growled softly, clenching his fist for a moment before letting it drop to his side, then turned away. “What do ya want with the shrimp?” He looked up at Timmy, who was still crouched on the high branch, looking to Creed for some kind of direction and still clearly wary of the man beside him.

                “I came to see if I could get a better look at him; Nathaniel and I have been studying over the last week and have been nothing short of astonished by his rapid development. I was about to fetch him down; see if I can get a closer examination—“

                Victor bore his teeth again, shoving a hand against Hans’s chest, knocking him back a step. “You don’t touch ‘im. Don’t think I’m dumb enough not to know what you’d want a closer look for…”

                Hans bowed his head, opting to step away; “You’re very protective. I’m surprised; to be frank. I didn’t think you were a creature of sentiment. Very well, I shall conduct a proper study at another time, when you’re both feeling more reasonable.” He gathered himself to leave and then paused, glancing Victor up and down, as though sizing him up.

                Creed grunted at him again, sensing an odd shift in the man’s smell that denoted he was feeling more aroused. Which was exactly why Victor wasn’t about to let him anywhere near Timmy; if anyone was going to take first crack at that, it was going to be him. He simply hadn’t decided when yet. But Hans didn’t seem to be looking in Timmy’s direction; instead he was very fixated on Sabertooth himself.

                “Mr. Creed, before I go, I wanted to compliment you on your work with Gambit. Your hunting prowess and over all methods are the mark of a true predator. I must say that I was impressed; and I don’t impress easily.”

                “Whatever.”

                “If you’re ever seeking a more worthy opponent to sharpen your skills; one that understands the feral nature of our breed a bit more implicitly…don’t hesitate to ask.” There was a strange undercurrent to his words that made the blonde feral feel suddenly unnerved. It was an unfamiliar and uncomfortable feeling.

                He sneered mockingly at McCoy as he took his leave; “Ya wanna tussle with a real Alpha, that it McCoy? I wouldn’t mind putting you in yer place…”

                Hans smiled back at him; “And I, Mr. Creed, would thoroughly enjoy putting you in _yours._ Until then.” He stepped through the glass, reactivating it as he passed and then disappeared down the corridor, hands folded neatly behind his back.

                Victor staid still, staring after him until his smell began to fade, feeling the cold prickle on the back of his neck from the man’s last words. Creed may have been a monster and a low-life thug who drank up the misery and fear of people around him like cheap gin; but he knew when he was dealing with something or someone who was more trouble than himself. Hans had that stink; the same kind of cold-blooded metallic stench that Stryker and Sinister had. He bristled and grunted, shaking off the unpleasant feeling before returning his attentions to the man in the tree.

                “Come on down now, he’s gone.”

                “No!”

                Victor blinked, cocking his head as he stared up at the scrawny naked man crouched just a few feet above his head, glaring down at him.

                “What?”

                “I’m mad at you,” Timmy replied grumpily, scowling. “You left me alone, you let dat _thing_ come in here so you could go _face-smoosh_ with the LeBeau!”

                Victor’s confused expression crumpled into one of barely restrained laughter and he folded his arms, leaning against the trunk as he looked up at the pouting naked clone.

                “ _Face-smoosh_?” he repeated, choking on the phrase a bit as he struggled not burst into laughter. “Aw, shrimp…yer not _jealous_ are ya?”

                Timmy looked down at him curiously, raising an eyebrow. “What is ‘ _jealous’_?”

                Creed sighed and shook his head for a moment before reaching up and catching Timmy by the ankle. “Get down here,” he pulled him down with a swift tug, dislodging the man and sending him tumbling into his hands. “That’s enough sass out of you.” Victor caught him easily and nipped him on the ear and the back of the neck as punishment before dropping him on the ground and sending him scurrying in front of him.

                Timmy skittered away a few steps before dropping down, frowning and rubbing the little wound on the back of his neck. “I don’t like him.”

                “Who? LeBeau or the blue freak?”

                “LeBeau!” Saying the name somehow made him feel sick and angry, he didn’t like hearing it, or repeating it. “I don’t like him…he feels…wrong to me. Why did you go wit him? Why you not stay wit me?”

                Creed sighed and nudged him forward, keeping him in front of him as he herded him down towards the river and their cave. “Its’ my job, shrimp. I’m here to keep the LeBeau in line and to put on a little show for the boss man to get his rocks off too in the name of weird science and shit.”

                Timmy seemed to understand very little of this explanation, brow furrowed as he struggled to find meaning to these words. Victor paused and stepped close to him, running his knuckles lightly down the man’s naked back, noting the little scuffs and abrasions left by the tree bark. “Hey, I’m here now ain’t I?”

                He nodded faintly, the sullen expression slowly leaving his features. He nuzzled against Creed, who accepted the affection, though he didn’t do anything to return it just then. He liked that Timmy seemed so eager to please him, so hungry to win his approval. He hadn’t had that in a long, long time and it reminded him of a simpler time, before he’d lost control of Logan.

                Victor stuck his nose in the man’s tussled hair and took a deep inhale, which made the naked figure next to him shiver slightly. “Ya stink like tree sap; go wash.” He shoved him forward and Timmy scrambled to obey, trotting then running before diving into the water below. He disappeared for a moment only to reemerge a few feet off the bank, the water up to his ribs, shaking wet hair out of his eyes like a dog.

                Creed felt a little twinge of desire as looked at him. He was LeBeau’s copy in every way, which made him distinctively attractive. But unlike with Gambit, he did not have to worry about the clone trying to use any of that _Charm_ nonsense on him. Timmy didn’t seem to have developed any powers at all in fact, except perhaps his accelerated adaptability and intelligence.

                This put Victor at rest, he knew he had complete mastery over the other man and that his intentions were his and his alone. But perhaps more surprising was the fact that Timmy seemed entirely okay with his brutish dominance and demands for complete compliance and submission. He had never questioned anything Creed had told him in their short time together, and never hesitated to comply, as long as he understood the request.

                It was not something Victor had ever really encountered before; this total willingness to obey him. Of course it was completely addicting to his narcissistic ego; but even this did not leave him entirely satisfied. He settled down at the edge of the bank to watch the smaller man bathe, his mind wandering elsewhere.

                His skirmish with Remy was still buzzing in his mind and his loins gave a faint throb, not presently aroused, but all too ready to go again. Their clumsy fondling against the wall hadn’t been enough for him; he wanted something more satisfying than a quick hand job. He grunted; both hating and loving the way Gambit was able to work him up into a frenzy almost effortlessly. He was craving another hard go at the man…but after Sinister’s outburst, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to achieve that. Clearly the man was fixated on LeBeau, in a sick, twisted, Bram Stoker’s Dracula kinda way. All that pining, all that untapped lust…it irritated and confused Creed, who never hesitated in taking what he wanted from someone.

                He looked up at Timmy again, noting that the clone was seated in the shallows now, relaxing in the water, letting himself float and drift faintly. Creed licked his lips hungrily; it would be too easy to pounce on him just then, throw him down and go. There was a burning little voice in the back of his mind that was screaming to do exactly that.

                But Creed hesitated. Pouncing now would surely damage the other creature, who was still somewhat fragile. Bodily, he was sure he would do major harm, possibly even fatal if he let himself go unleashed…and if the act itself didn’t kill him, surely he would be forever terrified of Creed and flee from him. He would gain satisfaction, but he would lose his Beta.

                Beta’s were hard to come by. Victor had not had one since Logan. The image of the dark haired man filled his mind and he growled. Logan had betrayed him; betrayed their pack and abandoned him. Creed would never forgive him for it either; he would make the runt pay for it all someday, when he found him again. He’d regret ever thinking he could live without him.

                “Kitty?”

                The burly blonde looked up with a grunt, seeing the big-eyed man looking back at him playfully. “Come swim wit me?”

                “Naw,” Victor grunted, remaining in his spot on the edge of the bank. The smaller man rolled over onto his stomach, dipping below the water’s surface and slithered his way towards him. Victor watched him out of the corner of his eye until the naked figure re-emerged at the edge of the bank, kneeling and dripping wet.

                He reached out a hand and tugged at Creed’s arm. “Kitty play wit me.”

                Victor swatted at him, making him duck back in the water, grinning. “Get outta here, ya little—“ Timmy splashed him and Creed hissed, suddenly soaked. He stood up, shaking the water out of his hair and shrugged off his leather vest. “Oh yer gonna get it now…”

                The smaller man grinned and scurried back into the deeper water, but Creed was already bounding after him, catching him just as he reached the deepest part of the water, dragging him under. They both came up a second later, Creed growling playfully, grappling with the nimble mutant before finally dragging him across the rushing water to the other side of the bank, managing to pin him in the shallows.

                He bared his teeth and Timmy yelped and bared his neck, surrendering, though he was still grinning, chest heaving from exertion. Creed stared down at him, hearing his quickened pulse, smelling the adrenaline on the smaller man, entranced by the way he was splayed underneath him. He groaned softly, feeling himself instantly harden.

                He leaned down, dragging the bridge of his nose and his lips across Timmy’s throat, inhaling his smell. His groin throbbed and he groaned again, leaning down and brushing his lips over the man’s wet skin.

                Timmy squirmed faintly at the new sensation, jolting up against him. His eyes widened faintly when he registered Victor’s sudden intense body heat, and a new sort of firmness he’d never felt before. “Kitty?” He mumbled. “What’s wrong?”

                Creed growled at him, squeezing his wrists faintly to make him be still. He nudged his knee between the man’s legs, pressing against him. Again Timmy squirmed, not understanding the strange new sensation.

                He moved his hand, reaching down to undo his belt, but Timmy spoke again; “Are you going to hurt me?” he mumbled, sounding concerned but not surprised.

                Sabertooth stilled, blinking down at him, startled by the words. Timmy was watching him with those big red and black eyes, which were faintly concerned, but also unassuming. He had no idea what Victor was thinking about doing to him; yet he assumed some kind of punishment or abuse would be visited upon him all the same. He had Sinister to thank for that surely.

                For perhaps the first time ever in his life, Victor found himself unable to move forward with the act, no matter how his body ached for release. It wasn’t exactly empathy he felt for the clone and it’s fractured, limited sense of the world around him. It was knowing there was something bigger at stake here; power over a helpless being like Timmy wouldn’t satisfy him. It would only leave him alone again.

                “No.” he replied.

                He pulled himself up, pulling Timmy after him, and they forded through the water again until they climbed back onto the dry bank and made for the cave. Inside was a mostly bare floor, but Victor had quickly fashioned a crude mattress out of long dry grass, binding it all together to make a suitable bed.

                The Beta feral curled upon the matt, looking back over his shoulder at Creed. Victor followed at slower pace, tossing his boots and belt and other effects to the floor before settling down beside the smaller man, draping his vest over Timmy’s naked figure. “Gonna have to get you something ta cover yer ass with, shrimp. Can’t have ya prancing around here giving a show to anyone who passes by. What will the worker clones think of ya?” He chuckled at his own joke, and Timmy nodded, nuzzling against him for warmth.

                Creed grunted; more body contact was _not_ what he needed right now. He roughly nudged the smaller man away. “Knock it off, yer crowding me. Shut up and go to sleep will ya.”

                “Hungry,” the smaller man mumbled.

                “You’ll eat later.”

                Silence as Timmy tried to settle himself, still unsure exactly had transpired between them. “Kitty…you face-smoosh dat man no more?”

                Victor groaned; “Don’t worry yer pretty little head about Gambit. ‘Face-smooshin’’s about all he’s good fer anyway.”

                Timmy exhaled sharply and the feral knew he was pouting again. He grumbled to himself, thinking that this was exactly why he never involved himself with anyone outside of sex or business transactions; dealing with other people’s petty wants and needs was so…irritating.

                “Alright…if it’ll make ya quit fussing and shut up…I’ll stop. But I still gotta deal with him; so yer gonna have to get used to seein’ him around. Got it?”

                Timmy nodded, curling further into Creed’s clothing for warmth. Victor sighed. God dammit. He begrudgingly rolled over and put one heavy arm around the smaller man’s body, licking his neck warmly and nuzzling his hair to let him know he was still in his good graces. Timmy smiled, all but cooing at the attention, secure again in the knowledge that his was in his Alpha’s favor.

                Creed waited, feeling the man slip into sleep by degrees. When he was finally heavy and still against him he let out a long suffering sigh, pressing himself against him, still half hard. “You’d better be worth it, ya little runt,” he muttered, reaching down to touch himself, hoping to take care of himself quickly and quietly without the sleeping man noticing. “Cause I’d like nothing better than to be ramming yer little tight ass right now…god dammit…mmmm…”

                It only took minutes for him to be spent and he muffled the sound against the nape of Timmy’s neck. The clone didn’t stir, still sleeping deeply. Victor growled and licked him again, wiping his hand off on the edge of the mat and finally allowing himself to settle down into an uneasy sleep.

               

***

 

                Days passed quietly within the confines of Sinister’s strong hold. Remy recovered slowly from his outburst under John’s watchful eye, and Sinister kept his distance…for now.

                But he was never far from Remy; no, not even when the mutant thought he was completely alone. As Gambit often suspected, Sinister had ways of watching him where ever he was within his domain.

                For the moment, the scientist contented himself with this; making his own recovery. His attempted assault upon the empath’s mind had cost him; it was a foolish and reckless thing to do; a moment of weakness sparked by jealousy and anger.

                Yes…he was terribly jealous. He despised the way Remy gave himself over to underserving hands and attentions. It sent something inside him burning like angry coals. Even after that this time with the other mutant, he’d been unable to make Remy see just how important he was; how special. Gambit’s abilities, though not highly unique on their own, when combined made him a terrifying force to be reckoned with. In his previous experiments upon the young mutant, he had begun to grasp the unlimited potential of Remy’s kinetic energy.

                If all his theories were correct, even when Gambit eventually died, his energy, his consciousness, seemed very likely to continue on, existing in the abstract, but very much viable. _That_ was true immortality; the only real way to cheat death.

                Sinister coveted this ability, but had failed in every attempt to duplicate it. This was frustrating enough, but then to watch Gambit, who should have been held up on a pedestal and worshiped for superior being he was, whore himself to low-lives like Victor Creed and that strange feral mutant called Wolverine…

                Nathaniel Essex paced his room, weary but also restless and irritated. As he walked, he studied the monitor across from his bed. The divided screen showed various areas of his labs and manner house in their daily activities. Presently he was focused on only one screen; which displayed the feed from the camera placed in Remy’s bedroom mirror.

                At that moment, LeBeau was doing nothing of particular note; standing at one of his windows, staring outside with that familiar pensive frown on his features. But the sharpness in his eyes told Sinister that LeBeau was up to _something_ …he just didn’t know what. Not yet.

                He sat himself down in his favorite high-backed arm chair in front of the monitors and poured himself a glass of merlot, vintage 1852, and sipped it thoughtfully, staring at the screen. He took a slow breath and let himself focus….

                Wolverine. The man always seemed to be at the forefront of Gambit’s thoughts since his return. Images flickered through his mind of the other mutant; intimate ones, both emotional and physical. Remy was indeed very deeply in love with the man. It was a sad and foolish thing; love corrupts, love _distracts…_ love makes mistakes.

                He tried to push a little further into the man’s thoughts, but the resistance, that ever-present static which thrummed in his head and made it difficult to hold any of Remy’s thoughts, remained. On the monitor Remy seemed to sense his intrusion, suddenly flinching and clutching the wall.

                “Get out!”

                Sinister retreated immediately, relinquishing the connection with a heavy sigh of irritation, watching the other man on the screen nervously drop back onto his bed, holding his head.

                “I know you’re hiding something,” he muttered. “I _will_ find out what it is, darling. You should know better than to keep secrets from me by now.”

                The door opened and he glanced up as a new figure appeared, lurching slightly as he stepped inside the room. The grey-skinned man looked up with some concern. “Hans? Are you limping?”

                The furred mutant nodded, shrugging himself out of his rumpled coat and hanging it on the hook by the door, quickly making his way towards the wardrobe and dressing screen. “So it appears I am,” he mumbled. “Had a bit of a tussle with one of your workers; twenty-four I think it was.”

                Essex scratched the neatly groomed edges of his sharply shaped goatee and shook his head; “Oh dear, he must have put up a struggle. I do apologize; they know they are to obey you implicitly.”

                “Oh no, no, no, don’t apologize,” Hans chided, peeking out at him from behind the screen with a rather wicked grin upon his face, showing the sharpness of his fangs, which seemed slightly blood-stained. “I like it when they struggle.”

                Sinister nodded thoughtfully; “Occasionally, yes. But if you’re seeking out that kind of release from the tension, it must mean you’re more than a little frustrated. Whatever is troubling you, darling?”

                “Not a thing! I feel we are progressing quite well…or at least, we _were_.”

                Sinister delicately lifted himself from his seat, adjusting his black silk robe across his lean figure, still cradling his wine glass. “Ah, there it is. Are you going to come out and say it, or shall I have to get it out of you?”

                A moment later Dark Beast emerged from behind the screen, also wearing a long burgundy smoking jacket, his stained and torn trousers replaced with fresh ones. He gave Sinister a rather matter-of-fact look. “All work on your cloning has come to a halt since LeBeau returned. We were making such progress. Not to mention there’s the little problem of replicating the virus…”

                “This is more important for now,” Sinister cut in firmly. “I’ve told you of my findings with LeBeau. He needs my attention, he’s highly volatile at the moment.”

                “Of course he is,” Hans replied. “But, darling, to be frank, my concern is that you’re interests in him is less academic than it is… _carnal_ , of late.”

                The leaner man frowned, looking somewhat offended. “When you arrived here, we agreed not to interfere in each other’s work, but to pool our resources to serve the greater good of our Lord Apocalypse.”

                Hans nodded, pouring himself a glass of wine now as well. “We did, yes. But how is letting Sabertooth violate our prize possession helping us to achieve this?”

                “Gambit’s Charm makes him irresistible to Creed; whom is complete psychopath with a disturbingly long list of bodies and sexual assaults to his name. If I can help Remy learn to control his Charm the way he controls his kinetic energy; he would have total mastery over Creed. And if he can reduce Sabertooth to a simpering, needy, grasping servant…imagine what he could do to the Humans?”

                “So subjugation is your goal?” Hans mused. “LeBeau controls the Humans, and assumingly other Mutants, brings them in line to your ideals…and you control him?”

                “That’s the dream, darling. That’s the dream.”

                Dark Beast considered this for a moment, sinking down into his own chair that sat at Sinister’s right hand. “Very interesting. There are of course, several obstacles that come to mind. Both your control and your catalyst are highly unstable…LeBeau’s liable to bolt or, I don’t know…throw himself off a cliff…at any given moment. Most unpredictable. And Creed…he already has ample distraction.”

                Essex raised a dark, artful brow. “How so?”

                “Our happy little accident; number 13, or ‘Timmy’ as it now insists upon being called…he’d quite taken with him.”

                “Creed is never taken with anything. He takes what he wants from a potential victim, uses them up until they are dry, and then either abandons them or kills them. He lacks any scope beyond that.”

                “I wouldn’t be so sure…”

                “Hans, what are you playing at? It’s late and I do have a splitting headache…”

                “Hush, hush, come here.” He beckoned the leaner figure towards him, catching his wrist and drawing him down into his lap. Sinister curled upon the larger man, allowing the bigger mutant to fuss over him, pawing and nuzzling. It was a rare moment when Nathaniel Essex let anyone else touch him in this manner; but McCoy he trusted completely.

                “I know that you are deeply invested in Mr. LeBeau darling, and indeed, your theories on the potential of his powers are extremely promising…but I wouldn’t want other opportunities to go to waste. I propose that you allow me a certain…liberty with Mr. Creed and 13. I have my own theories to research.”

                Sinister, his head resting on Hans’ broad shoulder, frowned thoughtfully. “Well, of course you do as you see fit with the clone; darling. I trust your instincts and am sure you will keep me well informed of your findings—“

                “Of course.”

                “—But what is it you want with Creed? And whatever it may be, it must not interfere with the contract I already have with him.”

                “Oh, it shan’t my dear man. I will make sure of that.”

 

***


	6. Chapter 6

 

***

 

                Victor groaned, lying on his stomach upon the grass matt, trying to force his body to stay firmly asleep. It was hot today, for whatever reason. Apparently Sinister was striving to make the enclosure environment as “authentic”as possible, which including fucking with the weather whenever he damn well felt like it.

                Creed was born and raised in Canada, and despite having heightened adaptability to climates…he was built for the cold. And he _hated_ humidity.

                The dark shelter of the cool cave was a saving grace…but it couldn’t distract him for long. He heard the soft padding of feet as they approached and the warm, lithe body that fell over his, nipping and tugging at his neck and shoulders, trying to rouse him from his rest.

                Sabertooth snarled, swatting at the other form, but he came and again insistently. “Get up!” he urged, tugging at Creed but barely managing to move him more than a few inches. “I’m hungry…kitty, lets hunt. Please?”

                “Do it yerself…” Victor grunted sluggishly.

                The man above him grunted in disapproval at this idea, splaying himself out across Victor’s broad back, hands drifting across his skin. The only thing that kept them from being completely pressed flesh-to-flesh were two thin layers of clothing over their lower halves. Still Victor could feel every bit of Timmy, even with the spandex shorts he’d been furnished with to make him feel more “civilized”as Sinister put it.

                “It’s better when I am with you…please…kitty, please…? ” his lips were his shoulder, nibbling, nipping, licking…the clone had teeth, and he sure liked to use them.

                Creed groaned quietly, lips curling in a faint sneer. The other man had been at him for a week, touching, pawing, curious and demanding…skin hungry. It was obvious to Creed that the clone was becoming ever more self-aware, and becoming more and more a fully functioning being. Meaning, it was also beginning to have much more abstract thoughts and desires. Especially _physical_ desires.

                The blonde feral pushed himself up on his hands and shrugged the smaller off him, sending him rolling. He turned with a sneer by Timmy just giggled, rolled nimbly onto his feet and was racing out of the cave, anxiously waiting for Victor to follow.

                “Goddammit…” he muttered, sulking after him, stepping once more into the thick humid air and feeling sweat bead his skin almost instantly. Timmy didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t seem to mind. Hell, he even seemed like he _enjoyed_ the sweltering haze around them. “It’s too hot to hunt, everything’s hiding and sleeping like it has half a brain, unlike…”

                Before he could finish the halfhearted insult he saw that Timmy was already bounding up the hill, actually scaling the side of a craggy mountain ledge, leading towards the cliff above. Creed stared at him, then followed, struck by curiosity.

                “The fuck you doing?” he muttered after him, scaling the same height in half the time, thanks to his much greater strength and with the help of his claws.

                But Timmy was already creeping low along the ground, moving intently towards something just beyond the cliff’s edge, buried in a thicket of bushes. Victor crept behind in the same manner, silent and stalking.

                It was a mountain ram; shaggy and snowy white with thick curled horns that looked quite deadly if you were unfortunate enough to be caught on the end of them. The beast was eating peacefully, gnawing thick gnarls of grass and weeds that grew up between the bushes and scattered rock. Victor came beside his pack mate, crouching low next to him. His golden eyes slid in his direction and he let out a soft grunt.

                The smaller male nodded, understanding. It had only been a week, but the two had practically perfected their hunting technique to a point where they needed no verbal commands at all. Timmy was so receptive, so in-tune with Creed’s body language. And moreover, he was very in tune with his own primal nature…

                He coiled back, ready to spring. The horned creature paused, probably sensing their presence. Neither moved, they hushed even the sound of their own breath…then Timmy sprang forward. He leapt on the animal’s back, who bleated and bellowed, shaking it’s head and bucking hard, trying to throw the bigger creature off him.

                Timmy had him by both horns, his legs wrapping around the animals middle, yanking and squeezing, wrestling against the violent thrashing, until he managed to topple the beast. Once he had it on it’s side, he wiggled out from under it and gave it a violent twist, earning a loud crack as he broke it’s neck.

                The body slacked and the clone let it fall to the ground before crouching over it, skinning his teeth into it’s soft neck, tearing at the skin until he came away bloodied. He looked back at Creed for approval and the bigger feral nodded, moving alongside him. “Look at you, shrimp…new record.” He took Timmy’s chin in his hand, turning his head lightly and using a finger to push back his lip, looking at his bloody teeth. “Now if only we could get ya some proper fangs…”

                The clone nipped at him playfully and pulled back, nudging the kill towards Creed. “We eat now?”

                Victor studied the animal and nodded, setting his own teeth into one of it’s thick haunches. Timmy, quite pleased with himself, sat back and watched his Alpha enjoy their spoils.

                The golden eyed man glanced up at him eventually as the smaller man slunk towards him, coming to kneel next to him.

                “What, ya need me ta gum yer food for ya?” Creed chuckled, swallowing a mouthful.

                Timmy reached up and wiped some of the blood from his chin and lips, “Did I make you happy?”

                Creed blinked, raising an eyebrow. “Sure, shrimp. Ya did good.”

                The smaller man leaned into him, nuzzling under his chin. “Want to make you happy…always.” The word was clumsy on his lips, his mind still trying to unravel it’s meaning and purpose. Still, Creed was shocked. He nudged the smaller male away from him, eager to disengage. “Eat yer food.”

                Timmy sat still for a moment, blinking, then moved in again. He awkwardly pressed his lips to Creed’s collarbone and throat, lapping at the faint smears of blood there. But more than that, he seemed to be trying to be soft…affectionate… was he trying to kiss him?

                Creed’s eyes widened at the prospect and he shoved the smaller man away forcefully, sending him rolling over onto his back. Timmy skittered, not sure what he had did wrong, but knowing his Alpha was displeased. He moved away from both the ram and Creed, huddled and crouched, head bowed, whimpering slightly.

                “Knock that shit off…” Victor grumbled at him. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

                He thought about the cruel irony of it…here was a perfect piece of meat, dangling itself in front of him…and Victor couldn’t even bring himself to take a bite, despite the fact that he salivated at the thought of it.

                By nature, Victor was not a creature of restraint. When he wanted something, he took it. His instincts were the only thing he’d ever followed; an after nearly 200 years of life, he wasn’t going to question them now. But for all his savagery, he was not a stupid man. He did _learn_ from his mistakes. At least in some aspects.

                Much like Wolverine, Victor saw himself as a lone-wolf. But he was inevitably a pack animal. He masqueraded as the lone wolf well; but he craved others to follow him. Once that person had been Wolverine himself, and the few that followed in place could never quite replace what he had lost.

                He desired Remy as a follower...if only he could get the man to put aside his conscience and embrace the wickedness within him. But even then, Gambit made a better fuck toy than an actual peer, even a submissive one.

                But Timmy…He didn’t dare. The clone’s blind trust in him, his absolute dependence and constant need to please…it was too close to what he had once shared with Logan. It was not something he would ever be likely to come across again…if he was too rough, too violent…surely he would squander his chance.

               

Days past, and as hard as Victor tried, he could not shake his desire for his new pack-mate. Not even distracting himself with roaming the Mansion, or even harassing LeBeau, who kept more and more to himself these days, seemed to ease his hunger. And Timmy was doing nothing to help the issue.

The clone was ever evolving, ever changing. His intelligence, his apprehension of the world around him seemed to double every day, though is nature remained feral. And Victor noticed that something had woken up inside him…a new sort of awareness.

One morning he had been awakened to the feeling of the smaller man lying on top of him, blindly grinding and rubbing, trying to create friction between the two, his face pressed into Victor’s chest, breathing hard. Creed had been half asleep, and hadn’t thought much of the sensation, other than it felt good and he wanted it to continue. He had reached down and pressed the warm naked body closer, grinding back, until a shaky whimper startled him into full awareness and made him realize what he was doing.

He’d never backed away from that sort of situation before, but seeing his pack mate that way, knowing how easy it would be…it was too tempting. Victor Creed had never exerted this much restraint over himself in his entire life…it was utterly exhausting.

Creed had tried to distance himself from Timmy’s stirring physical and emotional urges, hoping he’d learn to take care of it on his own and stop seeking fulfillment from him. But…it wasn’t going well. If anything, Victor’s sudden distance drove the other man to try _harder_ , pushing himself to new limits to impress and please his Alpha, and always seeking physical reward and assurance.

Yesterday Creed had returned from stint in the outside world, taking care of more loose ends for Sinister, to find the other man waiting for him in the river, where he was bathing himself. Creed hadn’t thought much of it at first, until he noticed that Timmy actually seemed to be trying to _entice_ him…

But the night before had been the absolute last straw. He’d awoken in the middle of the night, the air in the cave heavy and warm, and heard soft whimpering sounds close by. He realized that Timmy was touching himself. “Mmmph…Kitty… _Victor…!”_

Creed had went so rigid hearing the other man say his name that way that it was a wonder to him, even now, how he had resisted rolling over and taking him right there. As soon as Timmy finished and fell back to sleep, Creed had left the cave. That morning found him in the highest parts of the enclosure, clawing and slashing his way through the thick crop of pines on the mountain shelf that overlooked the rest of his domain. Though he was felling trees left and right, slashing deep, feeling the splintering of bark under his fingers and hearing the satisfying crack and creak of wood as it buckled under the onslaught…he could find little relief from his frustration.

It wasn’t _just_ the ache for sex. It went much deeper than that; Creed found himself constantly questioning himself now, hating that his desire for this mutant had felt him feeling so bitterly vulnerable. It was going to end badly. He was convinced now; there was never any other way it _could_ end. So why did he keep putting it off?

He’d gotten along just fine without Logan…he would get along fine without Timmy. Panting and covered in a fine sheen of sweat, the large feral turned, having made up his mind, only to see the man in question lurking there at the edge of the thicket, watching him.

Most of Timmy’s timid lurking had dissipated in the last few days; Creed noticed he stood taller, broader, more sure of himself. He stood now, standing in just his black shorts, speckled with blood from the dead deer carcass that was slung across his shoulders.

The two men stared at each other for a few moments, silent and tense. Victor supposed that Timmy’s senses weren’t heightened enough to give away his apprehension or pained aggression, but other things could easily give away what he had been thinking.

The black and red eyed mutant said nothing however, moving forward slowly and dropping his kill at Victor’s feet lightly, then stepped back, awaiting his Alpha’s approval. Victor made no move initially, he barely did more than glance at the carcass in acknowledgement. But Timmy’s eyes were boring into him, begging for some kind of response, some acknowledgement of his accomplishment. Creed could smell that the other man was growing nervous, even fearful.

“Full grown adult,” Creed muttered, nudging the broken body. “A stag no less…” He looked a bit closer at the smaller male and realized not all the blood that spotted his tan skin was the anima’ls. The creature had gored him, catching him between the arm and ribs with his antlers.

Creed cringed, yet Timmy didn’t even seem to acknowledge the pain, still looking to Creed expectantly. Victor stepped over the body and grabbed the smaller man’s wounded arm, pulling him to him to better look at the wound. Timmy hissed in pain, but Creed squeezed his wrist and commanded him to be still.

“Idiot…ye shoulda went at it from behind like I showed ya, then ya wouldn’t ‘ve—“

Timmy’s head dropped, he looked crushed by his perceived failure. Creed silenced himself with a frustrated grumble. For a young feral, this kind of rejection was devastating and he knew it. He weighed his options…

He took Timmy’s chin and turned the younger man’s face towards him and nodded gruffly. “Ya did good.”

Immediately the younger clone’s face lightened, he practically seemed to glow with pride and relief. He fell into Victor, nuzzling him happily and Creed let him, no longer having the will to stop him. He didn’t even reject him when Timmy kissed warmly at his neck and shoulders. It wasn’t until he found himself looking down into the man’s face and those big red on black eyes that were drawing him in, that he realized how lost he was. Timmy’s lips brushed his, awkward and timid but no less appealing.

Creed grabbed him close, squeezing almost painfully at the man’s biceps, not sure if he was pulling him in or pushing him away. He was already painfully hard. The mutants scent mixed with blood and arousal was making it harder and harder to fight his natural urges…

Tentatively Timmy reached down and touched him there, nimble fingers brushing over his erection and making him growl. He squeezed the man tighter and Timmy made a pained noise. The small sound finally snapped Creed back from his haze and he shoved the smaller man away from him without fully letting go.

“ _Don’t,_ dammit…ye don ‘t know what yer doin’.”

“But…” Timmy faltered. “I…want…I _want_ to touch you. And I want you to touch me. I want to make you feel good…why won’t you let me?”

Creed sneered at his innocence; “Touchy-feelin’ ain’t what you’ll get from me, shrimp. I go hard, I go fast and it’ll hurt you. Hell, it’ll fucking _break_ you…that what you want?”

“Break me then,” Timmy muttered, much to Victor’s surprise. “Break me, I don’t care. I _need_ you, I can’t…I don’t know how or why but I just do! It scares me…please…”

He grabbed at Creed and Victor shoved him away, making him fall this time. Timmy bellowed as the impact aggravated his wound, knocking the breath out of him for a moment. He scratched angrily at the earth from his fallen position, teeth bared and tears in his eyes. He opened his mouth as if to speak again, when something else caught his attention and he looked past Creed into the darkness of the trees, giving a sharp little gasp.

Victor could smell him then…an intruder.

Timmy was scrambling off the ground, backing hurriedly to Creed for protection, utterly terrified of whatever he had glimpsed between the shadows of the trees. Sabertooth pushed the smaller man behind him and emitted a low warning growl, searching the horizon. A pair of gleaming yellow eyes were watching them from the shadows beyond the pines.

                The scent of the other mutant was slightly obscured by the glass; but Victor now recognized it for what it was; Dark Beast has returned to the sanctuary. With a howl Creed rushed the man’s hiding place, slamming into the glass wall of the enclosure, smearing it with bloody hands and causing Hans to jump back slightly.

                “What the fuck do you want?!” Creed barked, claws scraping down the glass.

                The blue-furred mutant smiled wickedly and looked him up and down, “Quite an impressive sense of smell you have,” he mused thoughtfully, unshaken. “What gave me away?”

                Creed didn’t look away or speak, but a moment later Timmy crept nervously into view, staying just away from the glass, staring at Hans. Dark Beast let his eyes drift towards the half-naked creature, the smell of his arousal giving him away, and Victor slammed his fists against the glass, barking aggressively at the man and moving to bar his view.

                “Staking your territory?” Hans grunted with a little smirk of his own. He glanced back at Timmy, “My he looks injured…I’d better see to him.”

                “ _Fuck off_ , ya cheap dingy knock-off. Just cause yer pals with Essex don’t mean I gotta take any of yer _shit_.”

                “I’m afraid I have to contradict you, Mr. Creed. Your pay check depends upon your compliance with Nathaniel’s rules, and I’m afraid I have a few of my own to enforce….”

                He tapped on the glass in another strange sequence and it vanished, allowing him to step freely into the enclosure. Timmy hissed and bared his teeth, backing away hurriedly, and Creed remained firmly fixed in front of McCoy’s path. “You put one of those big blue sausages on him, and I’ll skin you alive and wear yer pelt like a trophy.”

                “S-13 is property of Mr. Essex; as his partner, I have complete access to him whenever I wish. I require samples for testing, and I need to have a look at that wound.” He took out a syringe the sterile little case within his lab coat eyes sliding from Creed to Timmy, “He won’t even feel it….”

                The sheer smell of panic he caught coming off Timmy sent Creed into a primal fenzy; he had one mission now, and that was to defend what was _his_.

                Victor grabbed Hans by the neck and bodily threw him out of the enclosure, bounding out after him with a roar, but McCoy sprung back with surprising vigor and collided with Sabertooth, both mutants screeching and baring their fangs and claws.

                The two ferals tore at each other, finding they were surprisingly an equal match in both strength and ferocity. Creed landed several deep wounds on the creature, drawing hot splashes of blood and sending fur flying. Hans howled, seemingly in delight, that Creed had managed to draw blood from him and set his own claws into Sabertooth’s back and tore.

                Victor bellowed feeling deep ragged lines being raked down his back until he fell and managed to get his legs under McCoy’s heavy form, kicking him over his head and sending him slamming into a pine.

                Dark Beast rolled, shaking his shaggy head as he started to regroup, only to have Timmy fall upon him, screaming and raging, getting his own hands around McCoy’s thick neck and squeezing tightly even as he set his teeth into one of his ears.

                Hans shouted and grabbed the young clone by the scruff of the neck and flung him away; but not before Timmy had ripped off more than half of his ear. Timmy crashed into another thick trunk and went down on all fours, trying to regroup from the stunning blow with some difficulty.

                “You little degenerate,” Hans hissed, though he smiled maniacally at the young man, eyes hellishly bright, striking instant fear into Timmy. “I’m going to make you regret—“

                Creed had him from behind, picking him up and bodily flinging him from the enclosure, sending him flying, crashing through the pines until he landed on a lower shelf of the cliff, battered and bleeding. Creed came bounding after him, only to find himself suddenly flung to the ground by an invisible force. Timmy started screaming behind him and Victor suddenly knew why; Sinister was in their heads.

                _ENOUGH. What makes you believe you can lash out at my Associate? Very unwise, Creed, even for you. You will desist this boorish behavior immediately; and report to the Simulation Room. Put that aggression where it belongs._

                Victor exhaled shakily as the voice left his mind and he regained control over himself. As he pushed himself up, he found that Hans was now standing in front of him, grinning down at him. Creed was shocked to find that the wounds he’d dealt to the other mutant were already closing, albeit slowly. The scientist cuffed Creed harshly, turning his vision red with blood for a moment. Victor roared, but Dark Beast had him by the hair, dragging him up, whispering in his ear.

                “We were interrupted this time, but don’t let that put you off, my dear man. I _will_ show you exactly how I am your master in every manner of the word... Until next time then,” he grinned and Victor flinched when he felt the man lick the blood from his healing face before letting him drop to the ground again. Victor shuddered in shock and confusion, beginning to realize that the other feral was out to unseat his position as Alpha Male in more aspects than one. The idea boggled him, as no one had ever been brave enough to try that shit with him, not since he was a pup. And even that fool had learned his lesson quickly and harshly.

                He shook the shock from his mind and got to his feet, quickly turning to find Timmy, who was struggling to his feet now. Creed pulled him in, feeling the smaller man slacken and slump in his hands, breathing hard. Sabertooth pressed his hands against the wound on his ribs, trying to gauge the bleeding, but it had already stopped. New wounds were on his shoulders from McCoy, fresh and ragged and red and purple bruising was already blooming across his back from hitting the tree.

                The Alpha scooped him up easily and hurried down the rocky trail to their den below. Sinister was buzzing in his head again as he went and he shook away the noise like it was a bee buzzing around his ear.

                _“Mr. Creed, I shan’t **ask** for you again--!”_

“He needs me!” he barked back aloud. Hearing the words pass from his lips gave him pause, startled to hear them, and he felt Sinister press his influence again.

                _“Is that **sentiment** I hear, Mr. Creed? I didn’t think you capable. Perhaps I’ve made you too comfortable here, you seem to be getting soft.”_

That designated deep within Victor, sending a rush of ice water through his veins. He was not _soft._ Soft people were easily manipulated, easily controlled, and easily distracted. Wolverine was _soft._ He would never be.

                He brought Timmy to their cave and ducked inside. He deposited the smaller male on their mat, giving him one last glance over, then turned to leave. His Beta’s hand came up and caught his arm, clutching tightly. “Don’t leave,” he rasped urgently. “What if he comes back?”

                Creed smelled his fear, saw the dread in his eyes. He wanted to wrap himself around the smaller man and promise him that the only person that would ever bring him pleasure or pain would be himself; but he couldn’t. “Then defend yerself.”

                He pulled free of his hand and made for the entrance. Timmy followed. “Where are you going?” he gasped, rushing after him, despite the way the hurried movements made him wince.

                “I got a job to do.”

                Timmy bristled, lurching forward and managing to match stride with the man, grabbing him again. “Gambit? That’s it, isn’t it? You’re going to be with him?”

                “Ain’t none of yer damn business.”

                “I’m _better_ than him.” Timmy insisted, his voice shaking strangely. “He can’t want you more than I do, he can’t make you happy like I can!”

                Victor burst into laughter, the sound harsh and cutting in the emptiness of the sanctuary. “LeBeau is the only reason I stay here. _LeBeau_ is the only reason _you_ even fuckin _exist!_ Haven’t you figured that out by now? Don’t you get what you _are_? And you think--?” He couldn’t bring himself to finish, startled by the way his Beta was now glaring at him, glassy eyed and wounded.

                Something seemed to have short-circuited in his mind again, as it always seemed to whenever he brought up Gambit or the idea that Timmy was not an original form, but the product of experimentation and genetic manipulation. Creed couldn’t quite tell what he would do then; he was either going to collapse or leap at him. It turned out to be the latter.

                Timmy grabbed him with such force then and dragged him to him, grabbing a fist full of Creed’s hair and pulling the man down closer to his level even as he stood on his toes to even out the difference and _kissed_ Creed, hard, bitterly, desperately, catching his lip with his teeth. Victor was momentarily overwhelmed by the rush he felt from the man; the fire, the anger, the desperation. It was dizzying.

                Creed tried to push him off, but Timmy clung to him tighter and emitted a sob and a whine against his lips. “I-I can be him…I can be him if that will make that you happy. Please, I just want to make you happy…tell me how. Tell me how!”

                Victor snarled and flung him away, sending him into the dirt. Timmy yipped in pain and didn’t get up, bowing his head, ragged auburn hair hanging in his face. “You will _never_ be him, ya stupid little…yer a mistake. Just like all of us. We’re fuckin’ _mistakes_! Embrace that fact, shrimp, and believe me, you’ll be a lot better off….”

                Timmy crumpled, sobbing harshly. Creed felt his guts twist, but he turned his back and kept moving, a bitter scowl on his face making him look meaner than he already did.

                _“Heartless, Mr. Creed._ ”

                “Yeah, well, no one ever accused me of having one.” He muttered in response.

               

***


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings!  
> Attempted rape/non-con, sex under duress, mental and emotional manipulation, domination

 

 

                Remy nervously waited just outside the Sanctuary, pacing the hall and shuffling his cards in his usual restless manner. He’d glimpsed at Victor and his clone when he’d first arrived, and had seen the odd spectacle of the two kissing; his doppleganger being the aggressor in the situation. Remy had quickly removed himself after that, rushing off to wait near the entrance than near the enclosure. The sight was too strange for him, even unsettling. He’d heard whispers and rumors from Sinister’s worker clones that his own clone seemed to be very adamant on becoming “physical” with Creed, but Sabertooth was less than enthusiastic.

He hadn’t seen or heard much from Creed himself over the past week, except for the man’s occasional sniffing about his room. The feral seemed strangely lately; unhinged, manic, listless. The overwhelming aura of general frustration and aggression coming off him was enough to make Remy keep his distance.

                Maybe this place was beginning to get to Creed as much as it was him. Gambit tried to comfort himself with this thought; still clinging to a vague image of Creed as something more than what Greycrow warned him about. John was a blunt, harsh man; maybe he didn’t know Victor as well as he supposed. Or maybe Remy was just kidding himself; because admitting that he was attracted to anyone as cruel and terrible as Creed was said to be must mean that he was more fucked up than he realized. Maybe he was addicted to bad men…and maybe he didn’t _deserve_ a good man; like Logan.

                Remy pushed down the thought and went back to his cards. He was flipping a pair back and forth through his fingers, feeling the smooth texture begin to warm as they started to collect a charge. His empathy picked up on a wave for rage then that made him lose his concentration, making the cards fizzle and flash before turning to ash in his palm.

                He turned to see Victor rounding the corner, a towering storm of rage that made Remy tense like a coil, ready to run. The feral’s golden eyes grazed over him for a moment, darkened and then slid forward again. He stormed past Remy, nearly knocking him over.

                “Victor? Everyt’ing alright?”

                Sabertooth emitted a barking sort of snarl and leered at him darkly, claws extended. “Mind yer fuckin’ business!” he spat. He seemed quite ready to set his teeth into him, but the Cajun put his hand on his arm and Victor felt a rush of warmth as Remy’s Charm kicked in.

                “Mon ami, dis is no time to turn on each other. I only want to help. You don’t seem like…yourself.” Remy wasn’t sure if this was an adequate statement; he was getting such a jumble of feelings from Creed that it was almost nauseating, especially since so many were negative emotions. But he glimpsed at something that gave him some hope; under all that rage and aggression, Victor was definitely feeling guilty about something. The idea that Victor could even feel guilt on any level made Remy believe that he was at least a lesser evil than Sinister or his mysterious associate known as Dark Beast.

                Creed continued to growl at him, but was lulled by the man’s influence, and Remy let him move in closer until the larger man was pulling him in, one hand around his waist. Gambit kept his own hand on Creed, finding that his power was more potent when he kept physical contact. He wasn’t sure why it worked so powerfully with this man, but he was glad all the same, as it made him feel safer in his overpowering presence.

                Gambit brushed Creed’s hair back over his shoulder and reached up to scratch at one of his thick golden sideburns. “Whatever it is, put it out of your head for now; we got another show to put on, oui?” He smiled at the man, but Creed did not return the expression.

                Instead he took Remy’s wrist and slowly extracted it from himself, as if he had to fight to do so. “I _ain’t_ yer friend, LeBeau….” He rumbled, glaring into Remy’s eyes. “Yer pretty and _God_ are you a good fuck…but so what? That don’t make you anythin’ fucking _special,_ sweetheart. I’m not gonna coddle you, or be your security blanket in this fucked up fun house you got yerself an extended stay at…I’m here to do my job, and that’s seeing that you do _yours_. So don’t expect me to come curling at your feet, or being all sweet and coy with ya….cause I ain’t yer mutt. You hear me, boy?”

                Remy wasn’t so much hurt by the words as startled by the hostility behind them. But he didn’t flinch, knowing he was safe for the moment with Victor under his control. “You’re not mad at _me_ , mon frere…can feel dat dere’s something else, somet’ing you ain’t keen to talk about. You’re worried about… _Timmy_ , is it?”

                Victor snarled again, showing his teeth, but Gambit pressed on. “He’s a touchy subject for you, I see. Got some misplaced feelin’s perhaps? You so angry it’s chokin’ me…” he finally had to relinquish the hold, feeling nauseated from the experience. Victor felt the spell lift and nearly set his claws into the Cajun…but then stopped.

                He smirked at LeBeau. “You think I got _feelings_ for you?” he muttered.

                Remy squared his shoulders, tilting his head, “Either dat, or you’ve fallen in love with someone dat looks exactly like me. Seems like confused feelings to me, cher. Must be easy for you, having someone who don’t know no better…though de idea is just twisted somehow. He even know what you are doin’ to him?”

                “What would you say if I told you he’s better at it than you?” Creed quipped.

                “I’d call you a lair, and dat’s not arrogance, cher…you ain’t done anyt’ing wit that poor little t’ing yet, or you wouldn’t be in such a foul mood.” He looked at Victor seriously; “Let me guess, you’re waiting for de perfect moment to tear into him; if it anyt’ing like I remember, he learn his lesson quickly.”

                “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Victor hissed.

                “Means you a nasty man, Victor Creed, a _mean_ man. I t’ink you enjoy hurtin’ people, in fact it’s about de only way you get off, is knowing you decide if someone feels pleasure or pain and dey’re at _your_ mercy either way…dat little man don’t stand a _chance_ against you.”

                Victor raised a hand to strike him, but Remy was ready to counter him, quickly side-stepping the blow and darting behind, then around, then far out in front of him, making the rest of the way down the corridor to the Simulation Room in long strides that made Victor chase him.

                Creed was about to pounce on him, but Remy pulled out his staff, swung and caught him sharply in the face, knocking him aside, then thrust the pole against his throat before pinning the man to the wall, his hands trapped in an effort to keep Remy from completely choking off his air supply. The Cajun was stronger than he’d realized when it came down to it.

                “Tell me I’m wrong! Tell me you ain’t de man everyone says you are. You know you don’t _have_ to be. We all got bad in us, but we got good in us too. We have to choose a side…” He stared at the man, searching his eyes, hoping to find some trace of hope. But Victor just sneered, and Remy relinquished his grip, dropping back.

                “If you want Salvation, kid…shit….did you go lookin’ in the wrong place.”

                “Gentlemen?”

                A nervous, familiar voice greeted them and they turned to see Sinister, or rather one of his many duplicates rushing to greet them from the opposite end of the corridor. “Mr. LeBeau? Mr. Creed? Please don’t linger outside, Master Essex is ready to begin and insists you take your places. I fear he will be most displeased if you continue to delay.” The man looked nervously behind him and then whispered; “You haven’t seen Dr. McCoy about have you?”

                “Non,” Remy answered, raising a brow at the man, who looked like a younger model than Sinister’s usual replicas. He must have been experimenting with their age now as well. “Why do you ask?”

                The trimmer version of Nathaniel Essex sighed nervously; “He’s been rather more aggressive lately; obviously he’s been lacking an outlet for his more primal urges. Last week he corned number 24 in the west wing, and well, I’m afraid the poor man did not survive the encounter.”

                Remy grimaced and even Victor bristled at the idea. He looked at the grey-skinned man, “If I were you, I’d cover yer ass and run then.”

                “I intend to.” The clone, labeled number 16, nodded and quickly excused himself after opening the door for them both.

               

                They stepped once more into the large, decaying white-walled room, descending the lift to the floor below. Through the tinted windows of the observation deck above he caught a glimpse of Sinister himself, leering down at him.

                Gambit glared back, jaw set, ready for whatever came next.

                “Places, gentlemen, the simulation is about to begin. Mr. Creed, one moment.”

                Creed distanced himself from Remy, as was required, then grunted curiously when one of Sinister’s other clones appeared to greet him with a metallic collar in hand.

“The fuck is this?” he muttered.

“A precaution,” Sinister added. “I think you’ll both see that I’ve made this simulation a bit more challenging, and that aside, I need to make sure everyone remains s _afe.”_

Victor sneered when the clone tried to put the collar on him, then grunted and complied, narrowing his eyes at Remy across the room. “Don’t think this is gonna stop me shrimp.”

The lights began to flicker again until they became a blinking blur and Remy felt a rush to his head again that made him momentarily dizzy. When it subsided, he found himself standing in the middle of a snowy highway, next to a broken down car.

                The wind picked up around him, gusting and blowing snow and ice in his face, making him wince and shiver, wrapping his arms around himself for warmth and cursing. “It had to be fuckin’ _snow_ didn’t it?” he muttered.

                He looked at the beat up car next to him, seeing that the hood was smoking and steaming. He rushed around the hood, popping it, and then coughed when it sputtered and spat a burst of black smoke and steam at him forcing him to back away. The car was obviously no longer part of the equation, so he quickly disregarded it, glancing about the abandoned road for some clue of what came next. The snow was coming down hard, and there didn’t seem to be any sign of anyone coming in either direction; the road vanished into white nothingness after only a mile or so. Across from him was a long empty field, also heavy with snow.

                Gambit tried to blink away the snow blindness and turned to look behind him. A tree dotted hill was at his back and as he squinted through the stark grey and black lines of the barren trunks, he could see a dark shape in the distance with two brilliant yellow points of light. A cabin.

                Remy sighed, huddling deeper into his trench coat, pulling the collar up high to shield his neck. He began the long trudge up the snowy hill towards the trees, eyes and ears open, waiting to be attacked.

                He kept expecting Victor to drop down on him from the trees, or appear over a snowy drift, but there was no sign of the feral anywhere. At least ten minutes had passed before Remy reached the door of the cabin, wet and freezing hair hanging in his face, his boots slowly becoming soaked, the frosty wind burning any exposed skin.

                He beat on the door for a moment then tested the knob. It came open with pop and a creak and Remy pushed cautiously inside. He waited for a hand to grab him and drag him inside, or the clichéd horror theme of having the villain waiting just behind the door to pounce.

                The inside of the cabin however was warm, bright with firelight, and Creed was in plain view, sitting in a chair at the end of a long wooden table, his feet kicked up, leaning back in his chair expectantly. Remy blinked at him as he stepped fully inside. “De fuck is dis?” he muttered. “Have you just been sitting here dis whole time?”

                Victor glared at him. “Why exert myself?” he muttered. “You’re coming right to me.”

                Remy kept his hand on the door, but it jerked closed behind him and locked tightly. He felt a pinch of panic then, but did his best not to show it. “Dis don’t make sense…what am I supposed to--?”

                _“You won’t always be able to put a great deal of distance between you and your aggressors, Remy. In this scenario, you will have to maintain control over your Charm while trapped in close quarters. The doors and windows will only open when the timer runs out, so I suggest you begin now. 50 minutes remain…”_

                As Sinister’s voice faded, Remy realized that Creed was now up and stalking towards him. “Ye look _cold_ , Cajun. Wet too…better get ya out of that coat.”

                Remy side stepped him, keeping his back to the wall and his feet in motion, trying to put the few spare bits of furniture, which were nothing but the table and chairs, between him and Sabertooth. “Naw-unh, Creed, not gonna be dat easy.”

                Victor flipped one of the chairs over in attempt to swipe at Remy, who narrowly avoided his grasp again; “Where ya gonna go, LeBeau? Ya gonna shimmy up the chimney? Let’s just get this over with— _come ‘er!”_ he yelled, making a desperate grab for the man. He caught Remy’s coat sleeve, but the Cajun quickly shrugged out of it, leaving Victor snarling, tossing the discarded bit of clothing aside. He leapt over the table at him, and Remy yelped, ducking and rolling away as Victor collided with the wall inside.

                But the feral was too quick to recover, rebounding and pouncing on Gambit just as he got to his feet again. He grabbed the tall man from behind, thick clawed hand clutched around his neck, the other tightly secured around Remy’s chest, forcing him back against him.

                Creed laughed and attached his mouth to Remy’s neck, sucking and biting harshly. Gambit cried out, trying to wrench away, but Victor tightened his hold on his throat as a warning before dropping his hand from the man’s neck to his pants.

                “Victor! Don’t do dis!” Remy rasped, struggling against panic, knowing his Charm was running rampt, driving the feral insane. _“You don’t have to do dis!”_

                Creed bent him over the table, slamming Remy’s head down against the wood and tore at his jeans, shredding the thick denim with his claws, exposing vulnerable skin underneath. “Shut yer mouth!” he barked.

                Remy tried to twist away and Victor bit him deeply in the shoulder for his trouble, making him shout, tears in his eyes; “Creed! Dis isn’t you, _please_!”

Victor shook him, slicing open the front of his shirt, drawing a line of blood across his chest, “You think I give two shits about you, LeBeau? You think you’re special to me!? You fuckin’ little backwater tramp, you are _nothing_ to me but something to use up!”

Remy tried to get his hands free, tried to grab something other than flesh to charge, but Victor wouldn’t let him, keeping his hands pinned to his sides in the squeeze of his arm. His Empathy was trying to reach out, to find something inside Creed to lock on to, some feeling other than rage and lust, but there was _nothing_.

“Don’t know who you thought I was,” Victor growled, shredding his shirt until it fell away in tatters off his back, “but it doesn’t matter anyway. You’re a _whore_ , LeBeau, you’re _trash_. And I’m a fuckin’ _monster,_ a _killer_. Really, when you think about it, this is _exactly_ where we belong.”

Gambit gritted his teeth in fear, feeling more tears in his eyes; “I didn’t want dis…I didn’t ask for dis… “

                Remy shuddered, feeling the man grip him between the legs, fumbling to keep LeBeau’s squirming body still underneath him. He knew he couldn’t match Victor’s physical strength, and he couldn’t get away now without incurring more injury to himself that would leave him more vulnerable. He needed to collect himself, needed to _focus_ …

                He managed to wrap his hand around Creed’s thick forearm and exhaled deeply, focusing. He felt a rush of warmth through his body, which channeled through his fingers. Victor growled low, shaking his head, but his harsh advances had stalled.

                “You don’t have to be a killer. You don’t have to hurt me…remember when we met? Can be like dat again…”

                Victor’s tight restraint around him loosened and he growled and snorted softly, still shaking his head, but Remy knew he was winning. Eventually the man backed away, allowing Remy to drop to his knees on the floor, panting and catching his breath. He watched Creed with wide, nervous eyes, not knowing if the man would pounce again now that he was not directly touching him.

                But instead Victor simply dropped to the floor as well, crouching in front of him, eyes slightly hooded, faintly glassy, as he stared at the smaller man. Creed made a small distressed noise as he looked at Remy’s ruined clothing and the fresh scratches on his skin. Gambit realized they were sounds of remorse.

                “It’s alright,” he mumbled, extending a shaking hand and touching Victor’s cheek lightly. “I know you didn’t mean to do it, big boy. We just got a little worked up, oui? I’ll be alright.”

                Victor moved in and Remy flinched, but the man didn’t grab him or claw at him. Instead he put his arms around him and pulled him in, apologetically licking the wound on his neck and shoulder. “Sorry…” he mumbled, voice thick and faintly sluggish, as though he’d been drugged.

                Remy blinked, trying to understand…his Charm had never had this powerful of an effect on anyone before. At best it made them ease their aggression, become more gentle with him, but it had never been able to actually _stop_ an attack before.

                His racing pulse began to slow, his adrenaline ebbing away as he realized he was not about to be torn in half. He sighed shakily in relief, letting his head drop against Creed’s shoulder as he tried to collect himself. “Dat was close, Mon Dieu…I thought….”

                Victor’s thick hands went down his back and the licking started to turn into kisses again. Remy flinched and squirmed away from the more elicit touching, but Victor caught him and pulled him back with a growl. “Let me go,” Remy demanded, “I don’t want you to—“

                The feral’s gold eyes were boring into his, still glassy but more determined. “Let me help,” he muttered. “I won’t be rough…I just want make you feel good.”

                “Non, please—“

                “I want to. I _need_ to.” Creed insisted, leaning in and kissing his cheek, nibbling at the corner of his jaw, hand moving up Remy’s bleeding thigh. Gambit shuddered; the contact was more pleasant, but it was still unwanted. He whimpered in frustration, not knowing how to turn Creed _off_.

                “I said don’t _touch me!”_

                The Cajun shook his head, trying to escape again, and when Victor wouldn’t let go, he turned and punched him across the face. The feral fell aside and Remy scrambled up, only to realize to his dread that the spell had been broken.

                Victor growled low and dangerously, looking up at him now with his fangs drawn, ready to taste more blood. “You little manipulative fucker, _I’ll kill you_ \--!”

                He leapt at Remy and Gambit shouted and thrust his hands out in front of him, pressing against Creed’s torso as the man flattened him over the table once more, set to tear out his throat But Gambit focused all his energy into one singular thought, opening his Charm and Empathy fully to Creed in an attempt to overwhelm his killer intent.

                Victor had him completely pinned to the table, jaws at his jugular. Remy trembled, waiting. But the feral didn’t bite. For a few seconds he remained over him, completely immobilized by Gambit’s forceful influence. He felt the claws that were set in his arms release and Creed sunk back again, dropping to the floor on his knees once more, whimpering like a kicked dog.

                Remy looked down at him, panting hard, feeling cold sweat bead his skin. “Mon Dieu…sil vous plait, I can’t keep dis up…let me out of here!”

                _“You’re doing well, Remy. Don’t give up now.”_

                “Fuck you! Fuck you and your mother! God dammit!” He nearly lost his composure, covering his face with his shaking hands as he remained huddled on top of the table, Creed at his feet. This couldn’t be the way to master his powers, this insanity couldn’t be the answer. Remy felt the man’s head rest on his thigh then, his big arms around his waist.

                “Hush up Cajun…don’t do that…ain’t gonna hurt ya no more, promise.”

                Gambit looked down at him helplessly, realizing this was the best he was going to get out of Creed until the clock ran out. His Charm still had the man snared, enthralled; his only salvation would be to allow things to play out as the always did, but with Remy in charge. Creed wouldn’t hurt him as long as he thought he was _pleasing_ Remy…that was something at least.

                He stroked Victor’s hair, hoping that would help calm him, and the feral purred, licking the bloody slashes on Remy’s thighs, slowly nuzzling inwards. Gambit whimpered a bit when he felt the man’s hot breath against his groin, and Creed looked up at him worriedly with those glassy gold eyes.

                “It’s alright,” Remy managed, lump in his throat. “Just..be nice…”

                Victor nodded obediently, opening the man’s fly and tugging the fabric away until he was more fully exposed. Remy was still soft, but Victor remedied that quickly, stroking him firmly for a moment or two before moving in with his mouth.

                Gambit gasped harshly, feeling the man’s hot mouth on his skin, lips and tongue enticing him. He let his hands sink into Victor’s hair, needing something to brace himself with, and the feral didn’t seem to mind, purring softly in response and sending a ripple through Remy that made him moan.

                Creed worked him slowly and deliberately, all thoughts now turned to making Remy feel as good as possible, his rage muffled by these overwhelming desires to please and comfort the man above him. Gambit sighed and moaned, cheeks turning steadily a deeper shade of pink as Victor continued to suck and lick him expertly.

                But Creed couldn’t help but notice the little salty droplets that would fall on his face now and again, and when he looked up he noted how wet Remy’s eyes were under his lashes, despite the way he moaned and whimpered.

                Concerned by Remy’s distress, his clouded mind sought for a way to replace it was pleasure and he began to purr again softly, lips wrapped around the man’s cock, which was pushed back deep into his throat. Gambit’s fingers tightened in his hair and his breath hitched, eyes opening suddenly as he gasped.

                “Ah! Victor! Mmmmph!”

                Creed smiled and continued, making Remy’s hips shudder and shake, earning more and more wanton sounds from the man who was rasping something over and over again in French. Remy felt the vibrations ripple through him, causing the steadily building pressure between his thighs to soar higher, making him sweat and quiver. “Jesus…I can’t…Victor, I’m going to--!”

                Creed squeezed his thighs and sucked him deeper, purring more deeply and Remy screamed and bent over him, and the feral lapped him clean and pulled away, nuzzling his thigh again. The tremors faded after a few moments and Victor pulled the man off the table into his lap, nuzzling him possessively, looking for praise.

                The Cajun could do little more than pant and faintly run his fingers through his hair, exhausted. Forcing his influence over Victor like this was draining; he’d never been able to hold it for very long, especially over someone who’s own emotions were so tumultuously violent.

                “Put me down now.” He mumbled, and Creed compiled grudgingly, depositing him gently on the floor before backing up several feet, waiting further instruction. Remy could see the man was getting anxious, and to his greater dismay, that he was still fully aroused. Knees shaking, LeBeau pushed himself to his feet and started to slowly back towards the door.

                Creed grunted, not wanting Remy to leave, not sure why his object of desire was suddenly distancing himself. “Something wrong?” he muttered.

                “Stay…” he was losing focus, too tired to maintain it. “You did great, cher…you made me feel very… _good_ …but it a moment you might feel differently.” He was within a few steps of the door now, one hand reaching behind him for the knob.

                Creed growled, suddenly up and starting towards him. “Don’t leave…you can’t just… _leave_ …” his voice was changing, Remy’s influence fading by degrees. He began to realize what he’d just let himself be reduced to; a simpering mutt, begging at his master’s knee.

                Creed saw red.

                “Oh LeBeau…. _you little bastard_ …is _that_ how you see me? Yer lap dog?!”

                Remy’s hands crackled with energy; “Stay away from me Victor, I didn’t want dis, Essex _made_ us—!“

                “LIAR! THAT WAS _YOU!_ THAT WAS _ALL_ _YOU!”_ he foamed. “I ain’t nobody’s mutt, I ain’t nobody’s _dog!_ I’m gonna bleed you slow, you little--!”

                Remy was through the door, slamming it behind him and charging it just as Creed flung himself against it. It exploded in a hail of splinters and screws and Victor went flying back. As he shook the saw dust from his eyes he saw Remy fleeing through the snow.

                _“30 seconds, Mr. Creed…”_

                Victor howled and went bounding on all fours after him.

                Remy raced downhill, boots sliding in the ice. He stumbled and slid down the steep incline, crashing through tree branches, not caring if they cut and scratched him. He was headed for the broken down car, guessing that would be the area closest to the lift once the simulation ended. He had seconds…seconds until was over.

                “YER DONE LEBEAU! I’M GONNA MAKE YA SCREAM--!”

                Victor collided on him and Remy fell, sure he was about to die, until suddenly the feral reared back and screamed. Gambit rolled onto his back, seeing Creed tearing at the collar, which was shocking him violently.

                “AARRGH! SON OF A BITCH! YER DEAD, YER ALL FUCKING DEAD!”

                “Fat chance asshole,” Remy kicked him in the balls, making Creed roar again and double over momentarily only to grab at him again. The collar was shocking him repeatedly as he attempted to crawl towards him, so much so that Remy began to smell burning flesh.

                “STOP IT! YOU’RE KILLING YOURSELF!”

                “FUCK YOU!”

                The lights began to flicker then spin, and suddenly it was over. Remy turned and bolted for the lift, which was already descending with Greycrow standing there, hand extended. “Remy, here!”

                Gambit barreled towards him and let the bigger man pull him as he punched the button, sending them both upward before Creed had a chance to recover.

                The shocking had stopped and Victor was smoking on the floor, his neck a mess of burned flesh. But the power was off now, and he reached up with a shaking hand to pull it free. He was all but foaming at the mouth as he stood up, eyes on Gambit and Scalphunter. “THIS AIN’T OVER!”

                The two men were rushing for the door as Sabertooth took a running leap at the catwalk and managed to swing himself up, rushing the two men as they fled out the door. Greycrow turned and fired several rounds directly into Victor’s face and chest, speckling the wall with blood, sending the big feral to the floor with a thud.

                Gambit stood behind him, still panting, staring down wide-eyed at the man’s body. It took only a moment or two for Creed to recover from the other-wise fatal wounds. John glared down at him, pressing the barrel of his machine gun to the mutant’s temple.

                “Go on, ya filthy bastard, try yer luck, I got bullets to spare.”

                “Stay outta this, Scalphunter…this is between me and him.”

                “Simulations over, Sabertooth. You _lost._ You don’t get ‘im, not out here.”

                Victor chuckled, his eyes sliding from John’s severe features to Remy’s pale, shaken ones. “Yer _pathetic_ , Cajun. But someone won’t always be around to protect you…not in here. Not from me.”

                “Go to Hell,” Remy muttered.

“We’re already there, sweetheart.”

                Sinister came striding out of the room then, pausing to look at the state of his subjects; “Greycrow, guns away. Creed, stand down, or I will reduce you to the intelligence of an earthworm.” He muttered coldly.

                Remy looked to the black haired man, eyes flashing; “I supposed _dat_ was all part of your plan? Strange, you seemed so concerned about safety, yet you never said a word while he was doing _dis!_ ” Remy shouted, gesturing to his fresh wounds.

                Sinister looked unphased; “You should be proud of yourself, Remy. _Finally_ , some real progress!”

                Gambit fell on him before John could stop him, striking several blows across Sinister’s face. _“YOU SICK FREAK!”_

                Sinister fell back against the door, bruised and bleeding, before John was able to wrangle Gambit. Essex glared at the young man, sighing as he wiped the blood from his nose and lip. “I think you need a moment to compose yourself.”

                The diamond tattoo glowed briefly and Remy went down like a rock, immobile and unresponsive.

                Creed stepped over him, laughing. “If ya want, Essex, I could take it from here…”

                “You’re part is this exercise is _done_ , Sabertooth. You will leave him untouched.”

                Victor snarled, whirling on the grey-skinned man. “ _What?!_ ”

                “It’s your own fault,” Sinister replied, “if you hadn’t been quite so aggressive from the forefront, you might have had more time with him. But I suppose you can’t help it, animal that you are.”

                “You think you can just dangle him in front of me, and I’m gonna come runnin’, that it? Oh no, pal, it don’t work that way. I _had_ the little fucker!”

                “Exactly. You _had_ him. John, take Remy to his room. Mr. Creed, you are dismissed.”

                Victor was boiling, ready to tear all of them to shreds. “I never agreed to this…” he muttered. “I never agreed to be part of your rat maze experiment! You keep this up, I’ll tear him to pieces, and leave the parts on your living room rug, Sinister! And then you’ll be _next!_ ”

                But the scientist looked far from worried. “You are _dismissed_ , Mr. Creed. Or do I need to treat you the same as Mr. LeBeau?”

                Victor fumed, then turned and stalked away back down the corridor, gnashing his teeth. As he stalked down the corridors, he glanced number 16, limping slowly by, leaning heavily against the wall as he inched along, looking rumpled and tattered. Creed could smell Han’s scent on him and grimaced; especially when the harrowed looking clone glanced in his direction and replied only that; “Dr. McCoy sends his regards…”

                Victor had finally had enough. He’d had absolutely all he could stomach of this twisted Wonderland Sinister had dragged him into. There was no amount of money in the world worth this kind of degradation; not to likes of Sabertooth. He had a reputation to uphold; how could even look himself in the eye if he continued to let a fop like Sinister pull his strings?

                He was already formulating his escape in his mind; a rather gruesome exit, that would involve him ripping out Greycrow’s guts, using LeBeau up until there was nothing left, then tearing the whole place apart before riding off into the sunset.

                Creed found himself instinctively returning to the Sanctuary, to his enclosure. He saw no sign of Timmy, and that was fine. He made directly for their den by the river, planning to wait until dark before making his move. He tossed off his shirt and jacket, throwing them into a heap at the back of the cave; hating that they smelled like Gambit.

                He snarled at the fact and dropped down against the wall, idly raking his nails across the rocks as he growled at the empty shadows around him. The smell of Timmy was everywhere inside the den, and it slowly began to ease the vicious man’s ire.

                Creed thought of the way he had left things with his pack mate, feeling a little twinge within himself. He was cruel man by nature and nurture. He hadn’t retained many lessons from his boyhood, except that no one was exempt from the hatred and callousness of others; the only defense was to get to them before they got to you. He justified that all those who experienced his cruelty were more than deserving of it in some way or another. Timmy seemed different now, but maybe it was just because he hadn’t decided to turn on him yet.

                He heard a noise then and turned, seeing the man in question slowly come slinking into view, just beyond the shadow of the entrance. The smaller man kept close to the wall, watching him intently with the those slightly-too-large red on black eyes, waiting for some signal from his Alpha; would be accepted, or rejected once more?

                Victor rumbled at the smaller creature and Timmy stilled for a moment, dropping into a crouch. Creed could still smell blood on him from his injuries. The feral turned away from him, not having the energy to maintain any sense of calm command. Everything inside him was bursting for an outlet; something to focus all of this frustration and rage on. He didn’t want it to be Timmy who suffered at his hands. For once, Creed could think of no reason that would justify his cruelty.

                “Get out of here, shrimp,” he muttered darkly. “unless ya want to get the beatin’ of a life time.”

                Timmy hesitated for a moment, then began to creep forward again, cautiously moving towards Creed. He looked at his Alpha in concern, sensing his distress on another level. “Kitty is…upset? Is Kitty hurt?” he asked, reverting back to his more primitive speech patterns again.

                Creed swatted at him, “I _ain’t_ yer ‘ _kitty_ ’, ye stupid little fuck! And I don’t want to be yer Alpha anymore either…I’m getting out of here, you understand me? You’ll have to fend for yerself from now on.”

                Timmy stared at him, confused and wide eyed, then winced, nervously putting a hand on Creed’s thick forearm. “You are…you are leaving? Was I bad?”

                “What?” Creed spat, both annoyed and curious at the odd statement that fumbled its way over Timmy’s lips.

                The smaller man nuzzled against him, nervously at first, then more urgently, until he was all but clinging to the larger more muscular man; “I’m sorry…want to make it better. Please? Let me try?”

                Victor tried to push the man off, but Timmy was already crawling into his lap, straddling him easily, awkwardly leaning in to kiss him. Their lips met briefly, clumsily; then again with more precision. The kisses were chaste and experimental, but there was plenty of feeling behind them now; not just curiosity or vague imitation.

                Creed let the leaner man settle against him, putting his own thick, clawed hands around his waist and letting them drop down to the narrow curve of his hips. The claws remained extended, lightly prickling over Timmy’s backside through the thin material of his shorts.

                But the clone didn’t seem to mind the menacing feeling. In fact, it seemed to heighten his desire to be close to Victor. He put his arms around Creed’s shoulders and neck and leaned in to kiss him a little more firmly, warmly, opening his mouth slightly.

                Victor, who had been little more than accepting to the touch, now became very alert, kissing the smaller man back, quickly taking the lead. The aggressive nature of his touch made Timmy gasp softly against his mouth, and Creed expected him to pull away or run. Instead he began to rub himself against Victor as he had before in his sleep.

                The blonde haired man moaned loudly at the light friction, his cock throbbing painfully now from lack of attention. Timmy seemed quite surprised by the reaction and looked down, staring at the thick hard budge that stood between them.

                Timmy wanted to touch him, but he remembered what had happened the last time he’d tried, and whimpered, squirming faintly with uncertainty. But Victor seemed to like the way he moved against him, so much so that when Timmy began to rock up against him continuously, the man’s gold eyes rolled back in his head and he emitted a low rumbling groan that faded away into a muffle whimper.

                Timmy was fascinated, still learning the differences in sensation and slowly coming recognize pleasure in comparison to pain. Until now, he’d only been aware of the differences within himself, but it seemed others experienced them too.

                He cautiously moved his hand down to his Alpha’s groin, ghosting his fingers over the straining length, hearing Victor hiss and moan again, then clumsily worked to free the hot naked skin from the confines of his clothing. Timmy loved the way his naked skin felt in his hand, soft and supple and warm to the touch, but also thick and shockingly firm.

                Victor let out a stuttering little whimper, those nails that were caressing Timmy’s ass slowly beginning to pinch and dig; though Timmy didn’t’ seem to notice or mind.

                “Oh Goddamn,” Creed muttered breathlessly, head dropping back against the stone wall. “Shrimp, don’t tease me…ready to burst as it is…fucking cock tease LeBeau....!” he muttered.

                Timmy leaned in closer and kissed his lips softly again; “Nevermind the stupid LeBeau…you have me now…” He continued to brush his palm and fingers lightly up and down Creed’s thick length, gripping him lightly and squeezing as he started to stroke him experimentally. Again, this was a skill Timmy had only just discovered for himself; he had no idea if it would work on anyone else. But Victor seemed to like it just fine, his hips rising to thrust into Timmy’s hand sporadically, his breathing labored.

                “Hhhnngh…oh fuck…oh fuck you dirty little…don’t stop! Don’t you dare fuckin’ stop!”

                Timmy grinned and pressed his face against Victor’s neck, continuing to play with him, until suddenly Creed tensed and grunted, spilling hot and sudden across Timmy’s hand and his own chest.

                The leaner man jerked his hand away in surprise, staring at the sticky white substance that now dotted it before licking it experimentally and then crinkling his nose faintly at the strange, salty taste. Victor’s clawed hand caught his chin and drew him back in however, demanding a rough, needy and grateful kiss.

                When he pulled back Timmy’s lips felt bruised and wet, and he felt a insistent tingle of his own between his thighs; which Victor had already sensed and located, teasing him by running one finger lightly up and down against him.

                “Alright then,” Victor muttered, eyes deep, dark and hooded with lust. “Ye wanna know what it’s like to be with a real Alpha? Then baby, I’m gonna show ya!”

                Creed surged forward, kissing Timmy hard, lips gnashing together for a moment as his tongue dominated the smaller man’s mouth, hot and forceful. Timmy gasped, moaned, and tried to pull back for a moment, but Victor wouldn’t let him retreat. He pulled the smaller in closer, raking a hand down his naked back, leaving little scratches that skittered down the pale creature’s skin, leaving faint lines of red.

                Timmy whined at the pain as Creed released his mouth to let him breath, but he growled at the sound, nipping the smaller man sharply on the neck, leaving a dark ring of teeth marks as his free hand continued to roughly fondle him.

                Timmy could have cried out for him to stop or begged for Creed to be gentle, slower; but the feral would have ignored him. He was too far gone now, lost in the heat of it. He needed release, he needed to dominate someone, to prove once again to himself that he was unquestionably in command of those around him.

                But his mate did not beg for reprieve, or try to escape his rough, probing touches. In fact he kept offering himself up, wanting to be touched more, teased more, bruised more. He wanted everything and anything that Creed had to give, even if it meant pain. Pain was better than abandonment, pain was better than rejection.

                Pain was better than being alone with his own broken thoughts.

                Creed’s claws made short work of the fabric separating him from his Alpha’s commanding grasp, and Timmy moaned at the feel of air on his skin again, to the rough graze of Victor’s calloused palms against shivering, sensitive skin.

                As soon as Victor’s fingers curled around him completely, taking a firm grip before beginning to stroke and tug, Timmy knew he would do anything for Victor; obey, submit, whatever he needed. Victor was the first and only person to make him feel anything other than pain or fear. He’d kill for Creed instantly, without hesitation. He’d even harm himself, if it would please his Alpha.

                “Mmm…mmmph…ah!” Victor’s touch felt far more powerful than his own, making nerves tingle and dance, filling him with an insane lust for more sensation, more contact. Creed kept him firmly in place on his lap, stroking him slow and rough, watching his every little movement with dark, hooded eyes.

                “Ye like that? Feels good?”

                Timmy nodded frantically, mouth falling open as he dug his nails into Creed’s neck and shoulders. “Good! Feels good! Mmmmm! More, more!”

                Victor chuckled low, appreciating his new mate’s enthusiasm, but not ready to give him everything up front. Rewarding his Beta too quickly and too readily would only lead to problems later on; problems Victor was keen to snuff out before they started.

                Creed squeezed him harshly and earned a whimper of pain and surprise from Timmy, who looked at him with faintly startled eyes. Victor brushed his lips over his cheek and the sharp edge of his cheekbone; “You don’t get to feel good just cause ya _want_ to, oh no, baby…you gotta _earn_ it.”

                Timmy whimpered helplessly, not sure of what to do to show he understood and desperately wanted to comply; anything to keep the sensation that was buzzing so deeply in his senses. He clumsily reached for Creed again, trying to stroke the still fully erect shaft, only to have his hand smacked away.

                “Not enough,” he muttered. He leaned in and kissed Timmy again roughly before shifting him in his lap, letting Timmy fall down between his thighs as he reclined back against the wall. He put his hand on the smaller man’s face, thumb tracing his bruised lips for a moment, pressing faintly until he felt the wet tip of his mate’s tongue dart out to lick him tentatively. Victor purred in approval, the gripped him by the side of the neck, guiding him downward.

                At first Timmy squirmed away from the strange position and the even stranger perspective of seeing Victor so up close, but the Alpha again halted his retreat with a warning growl. He sprawled himself out on his belly, propping himself up on Creed’s thigh before leaning in, brushing his lips over Victor’s hot skin before licking him lightly.

                Victor’s eyes rolled in his head and he exhaled deeply, stroking Timmy’s shaggy hair affectionately. “Oh fuck me, yes….”

                Timmy recognized the pleasure in the bigger man’s deep voice and quickly sought to maintain it, lapping at him more eagerly now, one hand wrapped around the root of him, squeezing faintly. Creed’s hips rocked upward and when the man tried to avoid the upward thrust, Creed pushed his head lower, forcing Timmy to take him into his mouth completely.

                He whimpered and gasped, not quite sure what to do and mildly afraid of choking, but Creed didn’t force him any lower, and stroked his neck soothingly; “Nice and slow, shrimp…yer doin’ fine.”

                The brunette nodded nervously and slowly started to suck him, tongue swirling over the head, tasting the same familiar saltiness as before. He started to shake a little, fearing he was about to be choked or smothered, not quite sure how to regulate his breathing. But Victor was making such ecstatic sounds of pleasure that he didn’t want to stop.

                It wasn’t until he started to feel dizzy, his grip becoming clumsy and halted that Creed pulled him back, allowing him a gulp of air. “Good boy,” Victor mumbled, pulling him in close and letting he smaller man drop his head back against his chest and shoulder as he rasped for air. “Yer such a good boy. But yer not done yet.”

                With Timmy’s back pressed to him, Victor helped the long-legged man straddle him, allowing Timmy to kneel on his knees, poised over Creed’s erection. Timmy reached down to touch Creed, but Victor caught his wrist and dragged it up with a growl; “Put yer arms around my neck.” He commanded.

                His Beta obeyed without a word, though he shivered, not knowing what to do if he could not use his hands to pleasure Victor. But the feral quieted him, kissing him roughly again and grinning in delight when Timmy caught his lower lips between his teeth and bit him, drawing a little drop of blood.

                “Getting anxious, are ya?” He purred, reaching down to stroke Timmy directly again, earning a sharp yelp from the smaller man followed by a lustful moan. “Ya want me to finish ya, like ye did by yerself the other night? Naughty boy, Timmy…you can’t touch yourself without _my_ permission. You know that now, right?”

                “Yes! Yes! Please…Kitty…”

                Victor growled at the nickname that he couldn’t seem to shake and sunk his teeth into Timmy’s shoulder, making the smaller man yell and squirm. He redoubled his pace with his fist then to help distract him from the pain, and though Timmy was breathing harshly, Victor saw his eyes start to roll in his head; he was getting much too close.

                Creed pulled back, lips now bloody, little rivers of it running in trails down Timmy’s skin from the bleeding wound. He leaned in to kiss Timmy, letting the man taste his own blood on his mouth. The clone moaned softly, licking him clean.

                Sure that Timmy would not move his hands now, Creed dropped his own back down between the lean man’s shaking legs, while his other hand continued to work his cock. Timmy felt Creed touch him from underneath, pressing against a new place that made him shiver and flinch. “Yer gonna feel pain,” Creed explained. “But then yer gonna feel soo good that you’ll forget all about it. Don’t you squirm now, shrimp…be a good boy.”

                Timmy nodded breathlessly, feeling the man’s fingers stroke and probe until they were forcing their way up inside him through the tense ring of muscle. Timmy cried out, feeling Creed’s nails scrape his insides and he began to whimper in pain, fingers curled into tight fists behind Victor’s head as he willed himself not to pull away.

                “Kitty! Kitty it hurts!”

                Victor stopped stroking him and slapped his thigh harshly, making him yelp, “I said don’t _squirm!_ ” he hissed. Timmy dropped his head with a whimper, eyes shut tightly, trying to repress and uncomfortable cry.

                Victor stroked the offended skin and moved his hand slowly over the man’s tense legs and across his abdomen, trying to soothe the tension. “Relax, baby. Yer too tight; it’s gonna hurt more if you don’t ease up…” he warned, pushing his digits further and earning another sharp inhale of surprise from his mate.

                He started to stretch and scissor his fingers, doing his best to knead the virgin man’s tight muscles into submission. Timmy was shivering, but Victor knew he was doing his best. He licked his neck softly and continued to smooth his free hand across his skin; “Good and bad are all wrapped up together in this, baby, so never you mind it. Pain just make yer senses all that sharper, so you know the difference between feelin’ good and feelin’ bad. Soft people, they don’t know that. They got no concept of how good ya can feel after ye’ve known real pain.”

                His fingers thrust upward again and Timmy jolted, but a second later the stinging, burning sensation was followed by a jolt of electric pleasure that made him actually shout, rocking spasmodically back against Creed’s body. “Ahh! AHH!”

                Victor grinned against his cheek, continue to press and stroke the spot with the pad of this fingers, now that he had discovered it. Timmy was gasping, groaning, trying to make words but failing as Creed toyed with his sensitive sweet spot.

                Then he withdrew his fingers abruptly, making Timmy actually whine for the loss of contact. “No, no, don’t stop! Please! Please, I want more!”

                Victor growled and Timmy immediately stilled this time, understanding his bounds now. Creed was pleased with the quick response, but took Timmy’s face and turned it roughly towards him; “That’s not how you beg. That’s _whining_. Whores whine for more; the greedy little fuckers. _LeBeau_ whines…you’re better than him, ain’t ya?”

                “Yes…yes!”

                “Then don’t ever _whine_ to me, sweetheart. Or I’ll treat ya accordingly. And I don’t want that,” he nuzzled the man and then put both hands on his hips. “You want to feel good again, baby?”

                Timmy nodded, biting his lip.

                The blonde chuckled and then forced him down, letting the head of his cock push roughly inside the smaller man’s body in one abrupt motion. Timmy bellowed, grabbing handfuls of Victor’s hair to keep himself from twisting or screaming.

                Creed held him fast and secure, not letting him pull away, but not pushing him any further either. “Breathe…pain comes first. Pain won’t break you, only I get to say if you’re broken or not. Pain is just the gas on the fire.”

                He gave Timmy a moment to adjust to the sensation, listening to the thundering of his pulse and smelling the rush of adrenaline and endorphins through his body as they attempted to compensate. Once Timmy started to relax a little more, Creed pushed him down further, taking him in halfway deep now.

                Even at this point, the head of his cock was rubbing against the man’s prostate. Timmy mewled at the sensation, trying to move his hips to get more contact. Victor chuckled at his attempts to seat himself further on his cock without permission.

                “Ya want more, good, good…show me how much.”

                Timmy moaned, and slowly brought his hands down so that he could brace himself against Creed’s thighs, carefully lifting his hips and feeling Victor draw out of him slightly, before immediately settling back down, pushing the man deeper. Victor leaned back and watched, a steadying hand on Timmy’s sweat-slick back, watching the man impale himself on him with deep satisfaction.

                “Good boy…fuck…mmm, that’s a good, good boy.”

                The smaller grunted and groaned, starting slow and shakily, gasping at every little sensation. Creed knew he wasn’t going to last long, and was just considering pulling the man back and finishing himself, until Timmy began to pick up speed, forcing himself down and up with more deliberate motions so that Victor found himself groaning in response.

                He put a hand on Timmy’s hip in an attempt to slow him, half afraid his unwitting pack-mate might hurt himself without realizing it. Timmy looked over his shoulder , cheeks deeply flushed with lust and excitement. “Don’t want to stop…”

                Victor hesitated for only a second, the gave him an encouraging slap on the ass and thrust upward, eliciting a little cry of joy from the man above him. His Alpha settled back, watching his mate grind down upon him ruthlessly, his nails digging into the naked skin of Creed’s legs until he drew blood.

                Creed could feel the smaller man tense, squeezing around him, frantically driving himself down on top of him in harsh, quick thrusts until his breath stuttered and hitched and he clenched, shouting in climax.

                The grin that spread across Victor’s face was nothing short of salacious, and he took full advantage of the momentary stupor that had enrapt his mate. As Timmy sat twitching and panting on top of him, Creed suddenly howled and seized him, surging forward as he knocked the dazed man forward onto his hands and knees.

                Timmy went face forward into the earthen floor, still rasping for breath as Creed fell over him, biting, licking, scratching, tasting him; covering his body with his own heavily muscled weight so that Timmy felt completely consumed.

                “Victor…! _Victor!_ ”

                Creed growled hungrily in response, all conscious thoughts and words dissolving into primal instinct as he lost himself to the animal that he was at his core. He pinned Timmy to the ground, driving into him ruthlessly, his mouth hungrily tasting the shivering man’s salty skin.

                There were no more words, no more requests. The sounds were wrenched out of the two heaving men were barely recognizable as human, Creed growling and hissing and Timmy doing little other than rasping for air between whimpers of pleasure and pain.

                In his heated haze, Victor managed to get a glimpse of his mate’s face, expecting to see something similar to the dazed grimace he’d seen with Remy. Instead, Timmy seemed to be completely euphoric, grinning and panting, seeming to relish the pounding Creed was giving him, even if his face was pushed down in the dirt and there was hardly an inch of his quivering skin that was marred by Creed’s hands or teeth.

                Victor purred in approval, leaning down to lick his lover’s neck warmly and wrap his arms around him in a tight embrace, rather than a forceful hold. Timmy mewled gratefully, pushing back against the big man, not wanting him to stop.

                Creed rewarded him by pushing deeper into him and taking the man’s already spent erection in his hand, stroking him roughly in time. _“Ah! AH! AHHH, VICTOR! VICTOR…!”_            

                The blonde threw back his head and howled as he finished inside the man’s writhing body, feeling himself pinch and drain, fully satisfied. Timmy was leaking across his hand, having given up what little seed remained after his first orgasm, twitching at the hypersensitivity in his now raw skin.

                The feral remained as he was, poised on his knees, still buried balls deep inside the shivering little body under him as it went limp and docile in his hands, letting himself come down from the high. The smell of blood and sweat and sex filled the air, clouding his head. But even in the afterglow, he waited for the familiar whimper, the pained outcry, the sob of regret.

                But it didn’t come. Creed withdrew abruptly and Timmy instantly flopped over onto his side, still heaving for breath. The feral mutant leaned over his mate, leaning close and sniffing him, checking for injury. Timmy’s hand came over his own and squeezed it lightly.

                Victor blinked, not quite knowing how to respond. The brunette turned his head, sweaty hair hanging in his eyes and smiled at him. “Did I…make you happy?”

                The golden eyed man gazed at him for a moment, the laid down beside him, huddling Timmy close to him and, nipping lovingly at his neck and ear. “Yeah…ye did, shrimp. You did good. Real good.”

                Timmy wrapped himself around the bigger man adoringly, looking exhausted but utterly content. Victor had never seen that look on anyone’s face after he’d gotten through with them. He held Timmy tighter, possessively, almost afraid he would blink and the other man would fade away.

                Good things didn’t come into Victor Creed’s life. He was not, nor had ever been, desiring or deserving of _good_ things. Relationships never interested him; romance was a disgustingly sugar-coated idea that got otherwise smart people to lie to themselves and others. Hook-ups and one night stands were like fast food to him…quick, cheap and usually wasteful, leaving a lingering distaste.

                But this was something… _different._ Victor was fully aware that he was taking advantage of a fragile creature, exploiting Timmy’s lack of worldly knowledge and self-awareness to his own gain. Yet, the clone seemed to _prefer_ it that way. And after all, he’d given the man plenty of reason to fear him, to walk away and not look back. But here he was, as if it was the only place he could ever see himself.

                That meant something to Victor. It was something powerful, even humbling, to have anyone put this much trust in him, knowing exactly how wrong it could go and how deeply _untrustworthy_ he himself was. It wasn’t love, he supposed, that made Timmy cling to him. It was more like some accelerated version of Stockholm Syndrome.

                But Creed wasn’t one to argue with fate when it served him up an opportunity on a silver platter. It’d been so long since he’d had a pack-mate…much too long.

                In his arms, the smaller mutant began to relax again, his heart rate slowing to match Victor rhythm, his breathes becoming deeper and more even as he rested. But despite being utterly spent, Timmy sensed that his lover was still somewhat aroused. His hand moved from around Creed’s back and slid down his chiseled stomach to touch him lightly.

                Creed chuckled softly and caught his palm though, bringing it up to his mouth and kissing it. “Whoa there, Timmers…ye don’t want to stir it up again. Don’t think those tender little haunches of yours could take another pounding right now.”

                “But…you are still…?”

                “Yeah, you’ll get used to it, sugar. It never really goes down. But right now, you’ve earned a rest.”

                “I don’t need to…”

                Creed grunted and looked at him seriously; “Hush-up, that’s an order.”

                Timmy nodded mutely, eyes falling. Victor stroked his hair and neck to sooth him, not wanting his Beta to think he’d displeased him. “You close yer pretty little eyes now and get some sleep…cause later, I’m gonna have ya squirming again.”

                Timmy grinned brightly, looking up a little too eagerly. “Again? Yes?”

                “Yes. _Later_.”

                “When is later?”

                Victor nipped him and cuddled him close. “Shut up and close yer eyes; you’ll find out.” He muttered, feeling somewhat groggy himself.

                “Yes, Kitty….I’ll be good.” He mumbled, snuggling into his neck and shoulder and quickly dropping off into an exhausted sleep. Victor watched him for a long time, still stunned by these strange turn of events, not quite trusting his luck. But eventually sleep found him too and he dropped off into a heavy doze, his nose buried in Timmy’s hair.

 

***


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger warnings  
> Rape, sex under the influence

 

**

 

                Night fell and little and nothing moved within the confines of Sinister’s citadel. A storm blew in over the mountain above them, bringing rain and lighting and low peels of thunder. Only those in the Sanctuary were at all disturbed by the light and the sound that rattled and flashed above their cloistered world.

                A particularly bright flash illuminated the mountain enclosure, causing Victor to crack open one eye, though he was still mostly asleep. He grunted as he heard the distant patter of rain of the glass dome above and the jolt of a thunderclap that rumbled and rolled on for several seconds. In his arms Timmy whimpered faintly at the strange sound and burrowed closer to him, and Creed nuzzled him and settled back down to sleep again.

                The noise began to fade and Victor was slipping back under the veil of sleep when his sensitive nose caught the faintest trace of another smell from outside the cave. Creed’s eyes flew open and he laid, poised and staring at the entrance of his den, a snarl beginning at the corner of his lips and spreading until he was baring his teeth.

                Hans was back again.

                No doubt the zealous scientist was hoping to catch them unawares in the middle of the night, to collect his so-called _samples._

                The feral lifted himself, leaving Timmy alone on the mat and pulled on his pants before covering his mate’s naked figure with his duster, then crept out of the cave. Hunched in the dark, he breathed the air in deep, trying to locate the source of his uninvited guest.

                The scent was close, but not overwhelming, meaning Hans hadn’t worked his way down to the den yet, and was more than likely hiding somewhere on the overhanging cliff. Creed crept up the rocky hill towards the thick pines above, moving in near silence despite his heavy presence, tracking the smell. The scent was on the move, and that made him nervous. He needed to draw Hans away from Timmy, unsure what could be hiding up the other feral’s sleeve.

                He heard a faint crunch of dry needles under heavy paws and stopped, claws at the ready, nose to the air. Hans was close now, maybe a yard or two away. Creed couldn’t see him through the darkness yet, but he felt him, his scent powerful enough to make his nose itch.

                There was faint ‘click’ sound then, followed by a low whistle. Creed jolted as something stabbed him, quick and forceful, in the shoulder. He snarled and looked down, seeing that he had been stuck with what appeared to be a dart.

                He pulled the little syringe from his body and sniffed it, then hissed. Powerful narcotics, the likes you probably wouldn’t find outside labs like Sinister’s and McCoys. Creed already felt the faint buzz of it rushing through his senses, but his healing factor was already counteracting it.

                He heard the sound again and managed to narrowly avoid being struck again. But this time, he’d seen where the shots were being fired from, and roared with rage before springing across the wooded, rocky terrain.

                Creed had Hans in his sights now, seeing the sheen of his grey-blue coat and the gleaming gold of his eyes in the flashing lightning. He could also see the large tranquilizer gun that the man was carrying, and how he grinned, showing a row of white fangs as he fired at Creed at point-blank range.

                Victor howled as he took two more darts to the chest; but it didn’t stop his attack. He fell on Dark Beast, claws tearing at whatever bit of him he could find, ready to tear out the creature’s heart and eat it in front of him.

                He tackled McCoy to the ground, causing him to drop his weapon as he mauled him, sinking his fangs into the blue-furred mutant’s chest while his claws found homes on either side of Hans’ back, tearing down. Dark Beast howled in response, but managed to get his knee up into Victor’s guts, creating enough leverage to flip the man over his head.

                Victor went rolling across the dry, pine-needle covered earth, ready to rebound. A heavy wave of dizziness hit him then, making him see double for a second and then sag to the side. He lost the feeling in his fingers and toes; the heavy numbness spreading up his limbs towards his core.

                Panting, the blonde stared in confused wonder at the man across from him, who could obviously see that his drugs were beginning to take affect. “Surprised?” Hans asked, wiping blood from his mouth. “It’s my own special cocktail of sedatives and paralyzers. I’m sure you’ll see that they’re quite unique; specially formulated for that pesky little regenerative ability of yours.”

                “Mother fucker…ye want of piece of this? Gonna take a lot more than a couple of darts…” he muttered thickly, unable to focus clearly. His face began to tingle and his eyes were getting heavy, coupled with the inability to focus his vision.

                Still, he managed to claw his way to his feet again and made a wild swipe . It caught Hans across the arm, but did little more than scrape him, resulting in a loss of fur but little else. The Doctor mocked him with a little chuckle, advancing on him.

                “I do admire your venom, Creed. In fact, your remorselessly brutal nature is probably your most defining feature. But I’m afraid it’s not going to save you this time.”

                “Fuck you!” Creed spat, stumbling away, willing his legs to work despite the fact they felt completely numb and were sluggish to respond to his demands. He made it only a few feet before collapsing to the ground, growling in frustration as he tried to drag himself across the ground on his belly.

                Hans leisurely came to stand over him, putting his heel on Victor’s calf, pinning him all too easily to the ground. “Really, Victor. I’m not so bad.”

                Creed’s glazed eyes slid back to look up at him, dilated and milky under the drugs influence. “Yeah well…people used ta say that about me too, Doc….” He slurred. He raised a hand and managed to sink his claws deep into McCoy’s thigh, causing a thick spurt of blood. “Point is, we’re both pretty bad liars.”

                Hans laughed before reaching down and twisting Creed’s wrist sharply, causing a loud snapping sound as he broke his wrist. Creed moaned as his arm fell limply to the ground. Hans grabbed him by the hair and twisted him around so that he was lying on his back in the dirt before he dropped down over him.

                “You’ve been running uncontested for too long, Sabertooth,” the smaller mutant noted. “You think you’re king of the jungle, but you’re hardly more than a thug. Which is why I’m going to remind you of what your place _really_ is.”

                Victor tried to move his other hand, but found it would not respond. The drugs had put him in a thick fog, dulling his senses without quit putting him completely under. Hans was moving over him, touching and exploring, pressing his skin firmly against Creed’s to make sure he marked him with his own scent.

                He leaned up to bite Victor’s neck, letting his fangs sink into this thick tan flesh. Creed whimpered and growled, jolting faintly as he felt blood rush down his skin. Hans leaned away, licking it clean and watching with delighted thrall as the wound closed on its own. “In the world I came from Victor, there was another like you. In fact, I suppose he probably _was_ you. My Master; Apocalypse himself, took him for one of his horsemen. You see, he was a man who recognized a greater force than himself when it was presented.”

                “So what…” Victor mumbled, kept conscious at this point by the way the beast was constantly pawing at him, and the drone of his voice. “…ye think yer some kinda God I outta bow to? Hehehee…” he giggled hysterically beneath the man. “…Gods are myths. That’s why they get knocked down, thrown to the wolves…by people like me.”

                Hans put his hand over Victor’s throat and squeezed, choking off the feral’s words before leaning down lick and bite him, splitting Victor’s lip and lapping up the blood. Creed did nothing to ward him off at this point; the pressure on his neck stifling enough blood and air to put him in a twilight state of unconsciousness.

                When he felt that Creed was docile enough, Hans pulled his belt from his waist and used it to tie both of Victor’s wrists tightly together, letting his bound arms rest above his head as he yanked the man’s pants down over his thighs. Creed remained motionlessly through it all, his eyes pale yellow and black slits under heavy hoods.

McCoy sat back and pulled open his trousers, letting the night air wash over his skin and stroked himself for a moment as he looked down at the man he’d incapacity beneath him, pleased with his work. “I suppose you think I’m cheating,” he mused thoughtfully, reaching down to touch Victor now as well, pleased that the feral’s response to stimuli was not too sluggish. “But that’s just something helpless people use to try to lessen the realization that they’ve been beaten.”

Creed groaned under him, starting to come back up from the fog, feeling himself being fondled and stroked roughly. “Watching your work, Mr.Creed, I know you can appreciate this fact. Seeing you with LeBeau is quite fascinating; especially away that degenerate is able to cull your killer instincts with such ease.”

Victor snarled, hips twitching as he began to resist again. His hands strained against their bonds and would have broken them easily if he still weren’t so numb. He felt Hans draw them both together in his fist, causing a rush of hot friction that made him moan in spite of himself. “But the real treat has been observing you with his _clone._ Really, from all that Nathaniel told me of you, I had never assumed you’d be clever enough to actually shape his broken mind to your whims. _Bravo,_ dear man.”

He grinned and leaned over Victor, whispering in his ear; “I was quite a show, watching you take him. The way he was whining and pleading for you…”

Victor’s cloudy eyes came all the way open and he gasped angrily, baring his fangs. But Hans squeezed him tighter, stroking them both faster, making Creed’s thighs shiver and jolt under the broad man’s weight. “You’re a born Alpha, Creed. But at your core, you’re still a dumb animal. And that’s why it was so easy for me to catch you.”

Sabertooth twisted and brought his bound hands forward, managing to slash Hans across the face. The blue-furred mutant bellowed as blood momentarily blinded his vision, but he quickly rebounded, grabbing Creed’s neck again and squeezing forcefully as he continued writhe and rock against him, picking up pace as he watched Creed’s face contort with dizzying pain and pleasure.

Victor clawed and scratched at his arm, but no matter how much blood he drew, he could not break the choke hold; Hans was too strong. Hans was grinding down on him harder now, the swaying weight of his body keeping Victor tettering between the twisted reality spinning above him and the blackness eating at the edges of his vision. His body gave several involuntary shudders and he felt himself climax abruptly, the pinching release of tension in his groin and guts making him moan again.

Hans sighed happily above him and kept stroking him for several more moments, making Creed growl at the raw friction between their nake skin until his captor grunted harshly and spent himself, splattering Creed’s skin.

“Ha…ha….mmm. Yes, that was _just_ what I needed.” Hans sighed warmly, smiling down at Creed, finally allowing him a little more air. He removed his hand from Victor’s throat and instead used it to smear his seed into Creed’s skin, making the man shudder. “A little reminder of tonight, in case when you wake, you think it was all a bad dream.”

“I’m going to kill you…” Sabertooth muttered darkly, his voice raw and raspy from abuse.

Hans laughed and kissed his cheek before lifting himself from Creed’s still debilitated figure. He pulled up his trousers and turned away, limping slightly from the still bleeding wounds in his leg and retrieved his fallen dart gun. “Of course you will try, dear man. But I don’t suspect you’ll get the prize you’re after.”

He walked back to Victor, standing over him for a moment before aiming the gun at his chest again. “The King is more valuable than the knight or the pawn in the game of chess, Mr. Creed. And brains always triumph over brawn.”

He emptied three more darts into Victor’s body, watching him jolt in response, then simply left the unconscious man lying there in the dirt, feeling quite satisfied.

 

**

 

                “Ki….Kit…Kitty? Kitty?! Victor?!”

                Creed’s eye lashes felt like they were cemented shut and it was a great effort to force them open. The blackness lifted to smudges and blurs of light and shadow, but after a moment or two he realized the large shadow that loomed above him was a face.

                Timmy was crouched beside him, Creed gathered in his arms, looking down at him in abject terror. His mouth felt dry and sour and his tongue felt like mush. He lifted his arms, feeling that they were still heavy but more responsive and reached for the smaller man, finding that his hands were still bound with a strange scrap of leather. “Shrimp…? That you…?”

                Timmy kissed his forehead and nodded, quickly taking Creed’s and pulling them free of their bindings, tossing the offending strap side and kissing Victor’s bruised and cut skin. Disoriented, Creed pushed himself up, leaning heavily against Timmy’s slighter frame. He felt the strong urge to vomit, but willed it back down and let the smaller man cradle his throbbing head for a time. “I woke up and you were gone,” Timmy began hurriedly. “I found you here…I thought the Bad Man had hurt you.”

                “Bad Man?” Creed mumbled, slowly recalling that this was how Timmy had come to referred to Sinister. When he wasn’t using more “colorful” language that Creed had taught him. But Creed didn’t think Essex was the source of his sudden sorry state.

                He pressed his memory, but found only muddled darkness and faint recollections that were too fleeting to hold. As he remained slumped in Timmy’s arms, he gazed around them, finding that he was naked and that the ground around him was littered with strange little darts. Victor frowned at them, slowly beginning to remember.

                He grasped Timmy tightly suddenly, earning a little gasp from his mate. He turned and sniffed Timmy harshly, but was relieved that the offensive, foreign scent was not his Beta’s skin. But this only gave way to the realization that it was on his own.

                He snorted and fumbled to stand, Timmy grasping at him, attempting to support the much larger Alpha’s weight. They stumbled together down the rocky terrain until they reached the little river below. Victor fell into the shallows, hurriedly scrubbing and clawing at his skin, opening wounds where the scent was strongest, dying the clear blue water momentarily red.

                Timmy watched this in distress until he waded out after him and caught his Alpha’s clawed hands, “Don’t! Don’t hurt yourself anymore!”

                Creed hissed at him and tried to shove him off, but Timmy sprung back each time, insistently catching his claws. “No, Victor, no!”

                Hearing his Beta’s deep distress finally shook Creed from his hateful haze and he relented, sinking back against the rocks, watching his wounds close and fade and the water begin to run clear again. Timmy hugged him hard and Victor nuzzled him. “It’s fine, shrimp. No worries.” He said then after a moment, offering his mate a little smirk before kissing him. “I’m gonna take care of it.”

 

**

               

Within the walls of the main house, Remy was waking up from a long, bad dream as well. He laid very still for a long moment upon awakening, listening, collecting himself. He knew instantly he was not alone. He rolled over in his bed to find Essex perched in a chair at his bedside, quietly sipping tea as he watched his young captive sleep.

Remy did not jolt, nor act disturbed by the man’s silent presence; it was not an unusual occurrence for him to wake this way. He did however glower at the man, frowning bitterly at him from his pillow.

“I see your nose is back de way it was before,” he muttered with a self-satisfied little smirk on his lips. “And dose black eyes are barely noticeable…”

Sinister frowned at him over the edge of his gilded cup. “I’m glad to see that you find light in this situation, Remy. If I were you, I would be much more somber about having acted so foolishly.”

Remy pushed himself up against the headboard, staring at the windows. “Hurt me if you want; we both know you can. What does it matter to me?”

Essex returned his cup to its saucer and sat it lightly on the bedside table, looking at his prisoner with might have been construed as troubled concern. “I don’t take any pleasure in hurting you, Remy.”

“Liar.”

“I’m being quite sincere,” the black haired man insisted, “ It brings me no pleasure to see you in pain. Sadly, it seems to be the only thing you respond to. Can you imagine how frustrating it is for me, to watch you constantly turn against the one person who is desperate to help you reach your full potential?”

Gambit glared daggers at the man; “How is letting Creed try to _rape_ me helping me become a great mutant? How will _that_ save all mutant kind from this imaginary destruction from the bogey man in your mind!? You sick, frustrated old man--!”

Sinister narrowed his eyes, the diamond on his head glowing faintly, and Remy was flattened to his mattress, immobilized, his mouth forced shut. “ _This_ is exactly what I am so concerned about, Remy. Your _constant_ defiance! I have given you every chance to change and yet you still rebuke me!”

 _“Then kill me. Just kill me._ ” Remy thought. _“I would rather die than keep living like this.”_

The tortured thoughts seem to actually touch Essex, softening his rage. He realized his hold on Gambit, allowing the man to move freely again, though he did not move from the bed, instead remaining inert, catching his breath.

For a moment Sinister said nothing, sitting pensively at the younger man’s side. “You dreamt of him again. You always dream of him these days. It’s quite…remarkable, actually.”

Remy paled, lowering his eyes to the sheets, nervously biting his lip. “Dose thoughts are private…Not dat it matters to you.”

Essex nodded, “You knew him for so little time, yet you truly believe that he loves you. I would say that it’s youthful naivety, but your memories convince me that he must feel very strongly for you as well.” He turned his gaze to the window as well then, smoothing the neatly groomed edges of his jaw absently; “I have seen him before, this _Logan_ of yours. He’s quite a unique mutant. He might make a valuable addition to our cause.”

The auburn haired southern blinked in shock, and his employer turned jailer smiled lightly. “You could be with him again, Remy. Bring him over to our cause? I know you could, my boy, between your Charm and his obvious adoration for you.”

Gambit clutched the sheets, palms suddenly clammy, heart thumping in his chest. This could be his chance, he realized. He could get out of here, find Logan and then take the other man and run for it. The idea sent a surge of warmth through him that practically had him glowing. But Sinister, of course, sensed this.

“Yes; the Wolverine would make a fitting soldier for the new mutant race. And Lord Apocalypse would be most pleased to have him in his service.” He smiled adoringly at Remy, stroking his hair. “And you of course, would receive the highest honor for bringing him to us.”

Gambit knew then that even if he did get to Logan this way, they would never be able to stop running. Logan would be hunted, just the same as Remy was. Sinister would follow them to the four corners of the Earth to drag them back, and if he caught them, they would never be free again.

The grey –skinned telepath brushed his thumb lightly over Remy’s cheekbone, removing the moisture he felt there. “Tears to shed, my sweet boy? Tears of gratitude I would suppose. I’ve told you before, I only want what is best for you.”

Remy couldn’t find the words to speak, his chest felt so tight that he could barely breathe, much less articulate. But at that moment they were interrupted by a thundering footstep in the hall, followed by several loud crashes and the loud tearing sound of something being ripped from the walls.

“ESSEX! WHERE ARE YOU?! YOU POINTY BEARDED LITTLE FUCKER?! I’VE GOT A BONE TO PICK WITH YOU!”

Sinister heaved a great sigh, massaging his temple in an exasperated manner. “It is _much_ too early for this…”

He turned towards the door, tail coats swaying, picking up his walking stick as Remy followed dubiously after him, “Sounds like he’s got a bur in his hindquarters t’day,” the Cajun muttered, then smirked vindictively. _“Good.”_

Essex stepped out the door into the hall, just as Victor came bounding towards him, towering with rage, though he seemed frazzled and out of sorts, eyes wild and gleaming. He seized the smaller man by the front of his waist coat and dangled him in front of him, foaming and snarling.

“Where is he?! Where is that blue furry freak of yours!? Being part of your _experiments_ was never part of the deal, Sinister!”

The dark eyed man leered at him tiredly, brow furrowed. “Unhand me, Mr. Creed. Or I do promise you that you will regret it.”

Victor dropped him and Essex staggered back, glaring at Creed with marked annoyance as he adjusted his shirt, vest and cravat. “What is the nature of your complaint?”

“You let that _freak_ into _my_ territory last night! With a fuckin’ _dart gun!_ Now I thought you were a man of class, Essex, I thought you knew where the line was. Clearly, I gotta teach ya a lesson.”

But Sinister did not looked menaced, or frightened by the feral’s obvious threats of violence. In fact, he barely looked more than mildly irritated with the whole situation. “I hired you because you are a _predator_ , Victor. Supposedly, a master. If Dr. McCoy, a member of your own class of mutation, bested you at your one and _only_ talent, than I fail to see how that is my responsibility.”

Victor snorted, claws fully extended, itching to shred the over-dressed arrogant fop in front of him. “That so? Well then, boss man, if ya ain’t _happy_ with my work, I’ll take my _talent_ elsewhere.” His eyes flickered towards Remy, who was watching from the eve of the doorway.

Sinister sighed, again kneading his brow. “Very well. You are always free to go at any time, Mr. Creed. I’m afraid however, since you are breaking our deal, that you shall receive less than half our agreed upon amount.”

Victor scoffed. “Keep yer money, Dracula.”

“And of course, I’ll have to wipe your memory of this place.”

“Good riddance.”

“The clone I’ll have Hans see to.”

Here Victor stopped, suddenly tense. “That’s where yer wrong. He’s mine; I’ve marked him now. He won’t follow you, or do anything you say.”

Sinister shrugged. “Oh I wouldn’t disagree with you there, my friend. You’ve molded that broken, impressionable young mind to suit your needs and your needs alone. But he’s still very much my property, and I would be deeply interested in seeing exactly what went wrong…”

“You don’t touch him.” Victor snarled.

Essex smiled in that quite, wicked way of his, folding his hands neatly over his jeweled walking stick. “Who’s going to stop me, Mr. Creed?”

To Remy’s great surprise he saw that Victor actually looked…defeated. His Empathy immediately picked up on the man’s distress as well, realizing that the feral had actually formed some kind of bond with his wayward copy.

Victor growled softly and flexed his claws, then straightened his back and shoulders, leveling his gaze at Sinister. The leer his gave him was grudgingly respectful. “Yer right, I dropped the ball on that one. I shouldn’t have let your fuzzy little science experiment get the drop on me that way. He wins this round….” He admired the sheen of his claws thoughtfully, “But next time, he won’t get so lucky.”

Remy expected Sinister to react to this threat, but instead he seemed pleased at the thought. “That’s much more agreeable. You and Dr. McCoy will settle things in your own way, provided that it doesn’t interfere with any of my work.”

“And the deal stays in tact? You leave Timmy to me?”

“Absolutely.”

“And…you won’t have any repercussions if I win…law of the wild and all that?”

Essex hesitated, for only a second, and then nodded; “I’m quite sure Hans wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Victor nodded, dropping back to let the smaller man pass. As he made his way down the hallway, mournfully noting the damage Creed had done to the décor on his way up, he glanced back to Remy. “Do consider my offer, Remy. I eagerly await your decision.”

Creed waited until the man was descending the stair case before he turned and spat on the ground where he had stood; “Stringy little fucker…I’d like to pick his bones outta my teeth if he thinks he’s getting anywhere _near_ …” He glanced around and noted Remy watching him.

“What the fuck are _you_ looking at?!” he barked.

Remy folded his arms thoughtfully as he leaned against the door frame, “I’m not entirely certain, myself,” he muttered, “But if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you actually _care_ for dat clone. As much as a man like you _can_ care about anyt’ing, other dan himself.”

Victor sneered and gave him the finger; “Does it sting, pretty boy? Knowin’ yer second best to a test-tube reject?”

Gambit smirked back; “I dunno, cher. You were _always_ second best in my mind.” He shut the door sharply in Victor’s face, leaving the feral barking at the remark, slashing his door for good measure before storming off. He was already looking forward to his next _“session”_ with LeBeau. He was going to have fun making that back-talking crawfish sucker squirm.

 

But even bickering with Gambit could not ease his restlessness. For the time being, he was trapped here, just like LeBeau and the others. But he didn’t have the physical restrictions Gambit had. He was able to come and go as he pleased; Sinister knew he would return, otherwise the deal would be voided.

He paid off Scrambler to keep an eye on the enclosure, then made a bee-line for the nearest town.

 

In his absence, Timmy had been pacing the hill of the enclosure, anxiously searching the rest of the Sanctuary beyond for some sign of Victor’s return. He did not like the look of the small, dark eyed man who watched him from just beyond the wall, nor did he approve of any of his mindless chattering or occasional cat-calling.

And if the little man _dared_ to refer to him as “Gambit” one more time, he was going to bite off his nose. Literally.

Luckily, Victor returned at last, carrying several large lumpy bags. Scrambler stared at the large blonde as he swaggered up to the enclosure and then began to laugh loud and high like hyena.

“Holy _shit_ , Creed! What the hell is all that for?!” Inside the bags he glimpsed what appeared to be a ridiculous number of lubricants, varies packages of jerky and other cured meat, and what appeared to be a king-sized box of snack cakes. It appeared Victor’s shopping habits were terrifyingly close to that of the average collage frat boy.

Victor swatted at him, knocking him aside; “It sure as shit ain’t for you, bitch, so you better just mind yer own damn business and run along!”

“Okay, okay, okay! Jesus Christ, that’s the last time I do _you_ a favor…”

Victor stepped inside the enclosure, only to be immediately tackled by his new mate. “Whoa, whoa, _easy_!”

But Timmy was hungrily kissing and biting at his jaw and his neck, trying wrestle Victor out of his pesky clothing, which was more layered than usual and harder to get off. “No go away for so _long_ next time, Kitty!”

“Aw, shrimp, did ya get lonesome without me?” Creed teased, nipping his shoulder and earning a little squeal of joy from his Beta. Timmy wrapped a long strand of Creed’s gold hair around his palm and used it to tug the big feral closer, grinning wickedly as he rubbed up against the bigger man. “It is _later_ , Victor….”

“Hell yeah it is.” Victor grinned, scooping the smaller man up and making for the cave.

 

**

                Remy paced his room, considering his options. The cards were stacked against him, that was for sure. But, he was more than used to that. He needed to be quicker than the dealer once more, sly and subtle. Fighting Essex openly was too exhausting, a losing fight.

                But if he truly believed that Remy would do as he suggested, and bring Logan back to join their ranks…there was his out. It was risky; hell it was terrifying. Because it meant that he would never stop running this time. There were no more chances, no more cards up his sleeve. It was this…or nothing.

                Taking a shaky breath, he made his way towards Sinister’s study, where the man was usually found pouring over heavy volumes of antique scientific study and scribbling his medical journals. Remy had glimpsed them once; they were full of anatomical sketches, random theory…and draws of a menacing looking figure with a massive jaw, bald head and cold, eyes. Sinister’s “Apocalypse.”

                Steadying himself, allowing his energy to build and create a thick shield of static around his mind, he knocked upon the door.

                “Yes? What is it?” Essex called from inside.

                Remy tested the knob and stepped inside, peering into the lavish room beyond and spotting Sinister sitting in his high back chair behind his desk, looking surprisingly ragged and listless. The dark haired man looked up at him in surprise. “Remy! To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

                “I’ve decided, M’siuer. I will bring back Wolverine.”

                A maniacal grin spread across Sinister’s face and clapped his hands together, rising from his chair. “Well done, my boy, well done! I knew you would come around to it; yes, yes, I always believed you would. My dear, dear man…”

                He strode over to Gambit and embraced him. Remy was startled by the man’s manic behavior and nervously patted his shoulder before carefully extracting himself. “M’sieur…are you well? Your eyes, they seem a little…bright.”

                Essex grinned. “Oh yes, my darling, yes I’m fine…I’m only planning, you see, revising my work. So much to be done, always so much to be done…”

                “Oui, of course. But, about Logan…I must be allowed to go above if I am to find him, yes.”

                “Of course, of course,” Sinister muttered, wandering away from him, digging through a heap of books and papers that were littering a tea tray next to one of his arm chairs. “You’ll have to finish your training first of course.”

                Remy tensed, but tried not to give away his disappointment. “But I don’t need to use my Charm on Logan to control him; he loves me. He will come with me if I ask.”

                “Oh, but we can’t take that chance,” Essex muttered feverishly, not even looking at Remy. His strange behavior made LeBeau nervous and he did his best to keep his distance. “Ferals are temperamental. But of course you know that….no, no the training must be completed first. We can leave no loose ends.”

                The taller man nodded; “Yes, of course you’re right. I won’t disappoint you, M’sieur. I’ll have Creed lapping milk out of a bowl at my feet in no time.”

                “I’m most pleased to hear that Remy! But now please, leave me to my work…”

                Gambit bowed and stepped out of the room, hand shaking as he shut the door behind him. He knew what he was risking now…there was no going back. But Remy had always lived his life that way; in a gamble against the odds.

                This chapter would be no different.

 

~

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